Jemma Simmons and her Boy Toys
by selmak
Summary: While Jemma Simmons knew that sooner or later, she'd have to settle down and marry, somehow she didn't anticipate who the lucky man might be. Or that she'd have to chose between five different Agents. [Blake, Coulson, Garrett, Sitwell, Ward] Crackity Crack crack
1. Chapter 1

Post Nulcear Dystopia. Post Fall of New York A/U. The Avengers kicked Loki back to Asgard but the nuclear damage was cataclysmic to the infrastructure.

the last few AOS episodes have been dark and depressing so I thought I'd write crack to cheer me.

YEAR 2 FNY

A nervous Jemma Simmons sat on the edge of the exam table. She was clad only in the very stylish paper exam robe and she was chilly. And nervous, so she kicked her feet. Uncontrollably, feeling like a small child. There was a knock on the door and she forced herself to smile as she permitted the doctor to come in.

It was a female doctor, so it wasn't that bad. Well, not as bad as it could be.

"Hi, I'm Nina Silvestri," the grey haired doctor tersely explained. "I'll need to swab you."

Jemma nodded and opened her mouth. The swabbing was done quickly and efficiently and then Dr. Silvestri asked her to recline to continue her exam. To her grateful surprise, Nina didn't blather, didn't give her the party line, instead she was quiet and efficient.

"Almost over," the doctor assured her and then she requested that Simmons sit up. "Do you need a few minutes?"

Simmons shook her head.

"You'll be notified in a few weeks. I hope you have a good match," the doctor said.

"No doubt I'll be seeing you in within a few months," Simmons quipped in a failed attempt at being cheerful. Her smile failed and her lip quivered.

"Have a tissue," the doctor offered.

* * *

"How was it?" Fitz asked as he met her outside the doctor's office.

Instead of answering, she leaned into Fitz, needing his physical support as she regained her composure. He held her until she shook her head and pulled away.

"She was kind and professional. Good swabbing technique," Jemma announced. At Fitz's head shake, she continued in a very flat tone, "I'll find out in a few weeks."

"I've been swabbed too," Fitz assured her. "Maybe…we''ll be a genetic match."

"Odds are poor," Jemma, ever the biochemist, protested.

"Doesn't matter, he'll just have to accept FitzSimmons as a package," Fitz fiercely stated. "Let's go back to our room. We'll live vicariously and have tea and bikkies. I have a package of your favorites."

"How?" Jemma asked. Bourbon biscuits were, at most, a fond memory of happier times.

"Trade," Fitz explained. It wasn't quite the truth, but close enough. Simmons didn't need to know exactly how he had acquired them.

Left unsaid that was he had procured them specifically for today, as he knew that Simmons would be in the need of cheering after being Swabbed for her genetic code.

* * *

The notification came swiftly, and Simmons left her lab with Fitz close behind her. They went back to their small flat and Simmons sat on the couch. Fitz sat next to her and she leaned towards him, once again in need of his support and comfort.

"No matter what, we'll always be FitzSimmons," Leo assured her before she opened the notification. She read the letter that detailed her indenture to producing future generations and then she dropped it to the floor.

"Are we compatible?" Fitz asked.

"No," she said in a very shaky tone. "They're all of the Nomenklatura; Level seven at least and I'm to meet them in three days on a group introduction. One's an eight. The other FOUR…. FOUR… are Sevens. You'll come with me."

It wasn't just a request. It was a desperate plea for support

* * *

The five male agents, some there willingly, some not so much, one marched off under gun point to the greet n' meet, were standing next to the bar. Each of them had at least one drink, and several were working on drink number three.

"I feel sorry for that poor girl," John Garrett announced. "She'll be overwhelmed by all the sheer masculinity and testosterone in the room. I hope she doesn't swoon."

Jasper Sitwell coughed a laugh, while Felix Blake rolled his eyes. Phil Coulson said nothing, as was his new norm, but Grant Ward flushed.

"What's the problem, Blake? You don't want to drop trow to help produce future generations?" The irrepressible John Garrett continued even while Blake's countenance appeared to darken. "Coulson, if Blake starts throwing punches, I'll take him, he's coy but scrappy. I'll let you have Jasper. Just don't let the glare from his head blind you."

Blake sniffed his disgust, "Typical Sagittarius."

"What about me?" Grant Ward asked as he hated being left out.

"You can hold Phil's and my jackets." Garrett decided. "If any of ZombieCoulson's body parts come off, you get to pick them up and keep them safe so we can reattach them with super glue. Jasper. Intel?"

Even while a not amused Phil Coulson smacked John Garrett on the back of his head, Jasper removed his glasses and shook his head. "You know it's not permitted for us to pry."

"Phil! That hurt," protested John. "When you rose from the grave after three days, you left your sense of humor in the ground."

That earned Garrison another smack to his head, this time by a lightning fast Jasper Sitwell.

"Spit it out, man," Blake growled. "It's not fair that only you have the intel. I see you dressed to impress." While Blake and Coulson are in their suits, Garrett and Ward are wearing their usual fatigues, Jasper is wearing jeans, sweater and sharp black leather jacket.

"Sci-Tech, twenty five, not from America," Sitwell dutifully reported.

As the only male in the room who was under forty, Grant Ward brightened until Phil Coulson spoke. His voice was quite rough as he contributed his intel, "Jemma Simmons."

"The Simmons of FitzSimmons." Blake stated.

The men deflated, pondering what the exact relationship between Fitz and Simmons was and what it might mean.

"Looks like we're getting matching bookends," quipped Garrett.

"It's a package deal?" asked Ward.

"Least you'll be warm at night with one on each side," Jasper quipped. "It will be helpful when the power goes out when the grid fails."

"Lads," John Garrett said in a very passable posh British accent. "Her IQ is higher than all five of ours combined. You know what that means, don't you?"

He paused, savored the blank looks on the four other men, and then continued, "Experience and treachery beats youth and pretty boy looks every time. Ward, just pack up and go home. You too, Jasper. Leave her to the two old men and Zombie."

Phil smiled, as only Garrett was brave enough, stupid enough and secure enough to call Coulson, Zombie, to his face. Phil's indulgent smile caused Garrett to turn towards Coulson. "Hey! Zombie smiled. And your face didn't fall off."

"It cracked though," Phil dryly admitted. He tapped his nose. "Did my nose fall off?"

Coulson had hoped by laughing at his trauma, he would lessen its hold on his soul and shattered psyche. Hasn't worked yet, but still he tried.

Blake snorted a laugh while Sitwell and Ward looked horrified.

"Though I hope she doesn't mind that experience comes with a few scars," admitted John as he adjusted his turtle neck.

* * *

"Ready?" Fitz asked before she opened the door to the bar.

Simmons bit her lip and nodded her head. Her hair was down and curly, and she had struggled to find a proper outfit that was smart, sophisticated plus had a little dash of sex.

"You alright? You didn't eat today," prompted Fitz.

"Thought I'd sick up," she admitted. Actually she had spent the entire day on finding a proper outfit and reviewing the questionnaires to determine who she might be meeting. Who was the one that thought cuddling skin to skin on a Sunday morning was a lovely way to waste the day away? Who liked motorcycles, which one played acoustic guitar?

"This is neutral territory, remember," he assured her. "You're coming here to meet them, put faces and names to their questionnaires. There's a group date later on this week."

"This sounds like a bad reality show I once saw, back before the infrastructure went arse over tit," she protests. "Was it called 'The Bachelorette'?"

"I prefer 'Dr. Simmons and her Boy Toys'," quipped Fitz.

She was still smiling when she opened the door to reveal her Boy Toys. To her horror, none of which could be properly described as Boy Toys, but instead, Men.

_**Phil Coulson,**_

Level 8. Nicknamed Zombie, Coulson the Undead, due to his death during the Fall of New York. He had been resurrected somehow, but rumors were that whatever had been brought back from the other side wasn't Phil Coulson. His face was expressionless but he nodded once when she looked at him. He was… fifty?

**_John Garrett._**

Specialist. Level 7. Hard core Shield agent. Plus he had a wicked sense of humor, and he was older than Coulson. He looked her up and down, and smiled even while he readjusted his turtle neck.

_**Jasper Sitwell**_.

Level 7. Field agent. He was forty? Maybe? He nodded also when he realized that she was looking at him. Supposedly, he was a bit of Lothario, leaving a string of broken hearts behind him. He was smug, and wearing a leather jacket, so he was a bad boy.

_**Grant Ward**_.

Level 7. Specialist. Cheekbones to die for, but prickly and that was being kind.

_**Felix Blake.**_

Same age bracket as the others. Reputation for being a nasty bastard. He raised his glass to her when she looked at him.

She smiled at them, and realized that she was feeling shaky. Very, very shaky when she realized, a new, that she had to choose one of these men to be the father of her children and spend the rest of their lives together. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

The agents moved quickly, preventing Jemma Simmons from cracking her head when she fainted. Garrett grabbed her shoulders, Coulson sheltered her head, Blake was at her waist, leaving Sitwell and Ward with a leg a piece. Ward had unintentionally antagonized Fitz as he had pushed the slighter man out of the way.

"Count of three, bring her to the floor," ordered Coulson. "One, two, three…"

The Agents lowered the limp Simmons to the floor, as a team, and Coulson continued instructing.

"You know, we both took the same first aid class," Blake snarked.

"You slept through most of it," Garrett reminded him. "Let's raise her feet, but carefully, as she's wearing a skirt. Fitz, would you mind unbuttoning her top button of shirt?"

Even while the Scot sputtered his protests, Jemma Simmons, Swooning Swan, came around. She opened her eyes, realized that the last fifteen minutes of her lift wasn't a horrible, horrible nightmare but in fact, a cruel curse bestowed by a Vengeful God, and she closed her eyes again.

"Sorry, it's still your dream come true," Garrett announced even as he was removing his jacket. "How are you feeling?"

"Woozy," she admitted.

He folded his jacket and placed it under her head. "Why don't you just stay like this for another ten minutes or so and we'll see how you're feeling."

"Stand back and let her have some air," Coulson ordered, so the various agents took all of a half-step back.

* * *

Really, lying flat on her back (with her legs spread open wide she had noticed) in front of (on the bottom of? ) five male agents was beyond humiliating. However, Coulson was jacket-less and there was a jacket covering her from her waist to her knees and Garrett had placed his jacket under her head.

After far too long, she decided it was safe to stand. So she did, and then she realized that she was once again surrounded by everyone. The wooziness returned in full force and she swallowed once, twice… as she felt the world spinning and that she couldn't breathe.

"She's about to black out," stated Felix just before she did.

Great. Blake was a master of the obvious, she thought just before she blacked out again.

* * *

John Garrett managed to grab Jemma Simmons before she did another face plant. He shifted the unconscious Simmons (thank God she was a lightweight) into a one person carry.

"Time to go to Medical," he announced. "Let's go. Fitz, please lead the way."

* * *

The five agents paired off into two separate groups once a still unconscious Jemma was wheeled into a trauma ward. The old dogs, Coulson, Garrett and Blake stood in one corner while the young pups, Sitwell and Ward hung about by the coffee machine.

Leo Fitz was with Simmons so there was no information forthcoming. However, each agent felt somewhat responsible for what had happened (though each would deny on their grave that they had a heart and felt any remorse).

"This is obscene," Felix Blake hissed. "Standing around like expectant fathers."

"More like standing at stud," Garrett growled.

"I didn't sign up for this," protested Coulson. He was compulsively rubbing his chest and Blake and Garrett munificently decided to ignore the twitch. "Repopulation of America Act be damned, I didn't sign up for this when I joined SHIELD."

"No, but you're in the Stud Book now. I know Melinda May frog marched you down here with a gun in your back," Blake sniped. "But it's worse for Simmons. You saw the look on her face when she saw who her matches were, in particular the three of us. We're old enough to be her father, but Ward and Sitwell?"

The three old dogs glanced at the pups, and grimaced.

"If you had a daughter, would you want her to end up with either of them?" Blake asked.

"Would you want your imaginary daughter to end up with one of us?" Garrett retorted.

"Blake's right," Coulson quietly inserted. "Sitwell's a player and Ward…"

"Is Ward," Garrett inserted. "Damn good specialist, no people skills. I'm sure you've seen his file and know about his family history. Least we'd be … respectful. She's just a poor kid."

Coulson did a double take and Blake looked as though an alien had swapped out Garrett's normally cynical personality with a responsible, mature adult.

"I have a heart," Garrett protested. "She's just a kid who's stuck in this mess because…the nuclear fallout…"

Agents Blake and Coulson shake their head.

"Don't worry, no one would believe me if I told them," Coulson quipped. "However, Dr. Simmons is far smarter than us, so we need a game plan. I'm thinking, we can help the kids self-destruct."

The three agents nodded their heads in agreement.

"Ward's already close to being kicked off the island as he antagonized the Gay BFF," Blake decided. "It wasn't necessary to be quite that physical pushing Fitz out of the way. He should have let Fitz grab a foot or something at least. Therefore, to achieve our goal, we need to befriend Fitz."

The three old dogs pondered a bit and then Coulson motioned them together. "This is the plan…"

* * *

"No news is good news, eh?" John Garrett asked Ward and Sitwell after they had been waiting for what seemed like several hours. In reality, thirty two minutes. "Why don't you leave a message with the head nurse so Fitz will call you when she's released? It's what we're doing as I had other plans that staying in a hospital waiting room. Coulson and Blake have already left."

The pups agreed and trotted off.

**_Bad form, boys. Simmons will always worry that you'll leave her if she has any problems. However, the three old men will have points for not turning tail and running._**

He walked away, went down one staircase, crossed the hall and came back up to find Frick and Frack, sorry Coulson and Blake were already sitting in the waiting room couch. They've been busy, as there are three small bunches of flowers from three different florists (Blake's work), and several containers from a really good Thai place. (Phil).

"Kids ran off," he announced.

"What a surprise," Blake deadpanned as he dived into the jumbo shrimp with pineapple.

"Which flowers are mine?" Garrett asked as he sat between the two men. "Budge over Coulson. Save me some of the shrimp, Felix."

"Hibiscus," Blake informed Garrett. "Sign the card."

"Perhaps something profound like sorry I made you faint?" He quipped.

Coulson and Blake both shake their heads. In unison.

"Perhaps you should stop attempting to sabotage your own chances," Phil dryly admonished. "She may decide on Sitwell after we get rid of Ward."

"That's the one bad point about your plan, Coulson. If we rescue the fair damsel from Ward and Sitwell, one of us will be DADDY," Garrett reminded him. "Who's taking one for the home team?"

"Garrett," was Coulson's immediate response while Black nominated Coulson.

"I was thinking Blake myself," admitted Garrett.

"Fuck you," Blake snapped.

"Only if you let me top, Blakey," Garrett retorted.

"It's my turn," was Felix's lightning fast rejoinder.

"What?" Garrett said in reference to Coulson's quirked eyebrow. "I get lonely. And there's not a lot of women that want to bed a man that looks like a patchwork quilt. I mean, you've got quite the scar there, Coulson, have you tangoed with anyone since you came back? Most women into scar kinks aren't my type."

Coulson shook his head. Only once.

"Door's opening," Blake advised, so the three men stood, together, in solidarity.

* * *

"I wasn't planning on seeing you again so soon," was Nina Silverstri's greeting when Simmons woke. "Leo said that you were meeting the lucky candidates today and you forgot to eat."

Simmons crinkled her nose at the betrayal from Fitz who just shrugged his shoulders.

"Leo, why don't you tell them that she's fine and that they can go home," suggested Silvestri. Fitz, grateful to escape from Simmon's wrath, agreed.

"They've probably gone already," Simmons demurred.

"No. There are three of them out there. The staff is busy gossiping about them," the doctor explained. "Let's elevate your head a bit."

Simmons just moaned.

"They're old enough to be my father," Simmons protested. She had no problem admitting that she was whinging and having a sulk.

"Older men have their charm," the doctor teased. "They know what they're doing in bed."

"Sleeping?" retorted a distraught Simmons.

"I understand that you have six months to make your decision, but… please… at least kick their tires and start the fire, if you know what I mean. Don't decide on a younger man just because he's been blessed with killer cheekbones, because… you never know what they'll look like in twenty years. With an older guy, you have a pretty good guess. While you're here, I've renewed your birth control. It's the newest plan, you take one just before and after."

"I kick their tires?" Simmons asked. Oh, she was being very snippy. Her mother, God rest her soul, would have swatted her one.

Silvestri just shook her head. "Have some fun before you settle down. You might be surprised by them."

There was a quiet knock on the door and Fitz popped his head in. "I told them to go but they won't. They wanted to see how you were feeling, and… they bought flowers for you."

Fitz didn't like Ward, wasn't impressed with Sitwell, but apparently the trio had scored points by staying until she woke.

Simmons deflated and Silvestri smiled.

"I told you older men have their charm," she staged whispered. "Let them in, Simmons. They've been out there for hours."

* * *

The three Agents, Blake, Coulson and Garrett marched in, dutifully presented her with flowers, (Hibiscus! Gerber Daisies! Tulips!), asked about her health and then were quickly shown the door.

"Hmm… they all went to different florists," Silvestri commented. "They made an effort. Bodes well."

"They did, didn't they," Simmons slowly admitted. It seems that Sitwell and Ward hadn't cared, they had just run off at the first spot of trouble.

Perhaps an older man wasn't as frightfully horrid an idea as she originally believed it to be.


	3. Introducing Winston

This has been totally Jossed.

But I struggle on. Else Jhedon and Lacheisgrimme would have meeting eating Ben & Jerry's all day long.

* * *

The three old dogs aka Blake, Coulson and Garrett, were sitting in the park on the same park bench. They were joined by a large, salt and pepper Giant Schnauzer, Winston, who looked a great deal like his owner with his greying hair and his serious mien. The large dog turned when he heard oncoming footsteps and he faced the latest interloper, sniffed once and decided he wasn't worth the effort and sat next to his owner.

Jasper Sitwell shook his head.

"You played me," Jasper said with a twinge of unwilling respect. "You all played me."

"No, we didn't, son," Garrett drawled. "All's fair in love and war, and you didn't care enough to stay."

Meanwhile Phil, Felix and Winston said nothing but they openly displayed their amusement by smirking. A growling Sitwell shook his head again, and walked towards another park bench where a fuming Grant Ward was sitting.

"Dog's a good touch," Phil informed Felix.

"Love me, love my dog," quipped Felix. "So what is this shit?"

"A social coordinator has been hired for this clusterfuck," Garrett explained much to Felix' confusion.

"Social coordinator?" spat Felix. "What the fuck?"

"Level One Agent," inserted Phil.

"To help prevent Dr. Simmons from fainting again. It seems they're blaming her swooning on us." Garrett grimaced a 'But Nick, we're completely innocent even though Sweden is in shambles!' look.

"Why are we doing this again? Can someone remind me why I signed up for this three hour cruise?" Felix asked.

"FURY," chimed in Phil and Garrett. Winston woofed his disapproval at Fury and Blake nodded.

"Who's the perky brunette?" Felix asked.

"Cruise director," Phil explained.

All three men looked at the perky brunette and then said in unison, "Is she even old enough to drink?"

Realizing that it was time for the next nefarious part of their plan to keep Jemma Simmons safe from Sitwell and Ward, Blake reached into his bag and pulled out a Frisbee. Winston, noticing that the Frisbee was about to be put into play, began excitedly jumping in circles and leaping like a mad dog.

"Operation Frisbee is now commencing," Felix Blake intoned even while a joyful Winston succeeded in a performing a backflip.

* * *

Skye, newly christened SHIELD Level 1 agent, smiled brightly when she met Jemma Simmons.

"Hi, I'm supposed to plan things," she bubbled. "Group dates, elimination contests, the end result being that it leave you with just one bachelor."

Simmons groaned as this sounded like a truly horrible reality show. Plus she couldn't help but hear "Kick their tires and light their fires" in her head.

Skye patted Simmons' hand with what she hoped was a sympathetic touch. "I understood that your first meeting with the eligible bachelors didn't go very smoothly."

"She fainted," inserted Leo Fitz. "Her little eyes rolled up in her adorable little face and she went..." He gestured in a way that quite adequately displayed Jemma Simmons' face plant.

"On the positive side, you only fainted once," Skye chirped as she was trying to find something positive to say.

The unsinkable Skye's smile faded when the science twins chimed in with, "Twice."

"How far did you get in the introductions?" Skye asked. Her cheerfulness was long gone and Simmons gives her a weak smile.

"She fainted… twice," inserted Leo Fitz. "We thought meeting in the park might work out better."

"Did you hydrate?" Skye asked. "We could get you a snow cone or something. There's a vendor near that really cute dog that's playing Frisbee."

* * *

It was a cute dog, Jemma realized. It was big and salt and pepper colored. It had a dignified appearance with serious eyebrows and beard but he was currently racing after a Frisbee with a joy that was infectious.

Simmons made a noise akin to a whimpering seal cub when she realized it was Felix Blake's dog. Skye, immediately reached toward Simmons in a feeble attempt at preventing her from fainting once more and cracking open her head.

"That's bachelor # 5," explained Fitz.

Skye said nothing, so Simmons, who was not happy at all with recent events, turned on her new social coordinator. "Nothing to say?" she snipped.

"He's established," Skye said in a very weak tone.

"He's ANCIENT," snapped Simmons.

"I'm sure he's got a huge pen….sion…" Skye desperately pleaded while Fitz snorted.

* * *

"We need take Ward out of the equation," Coulson decided. "Nothing too obvious, but something that will display his bad behavior and his complete unsuitability. Any ideas?"

Felix smiled, a very odd expression on his normally quite sober face. "I can handle. Best if you don't know what I'm planning so the look of surprise will be real."

"I'm glad that you're on our side," Phil quipped.

"I'm on Simmons side," he tersely explained as he walked to a street vendor to buy water for his dog.

As Felix was procuring water for Winston, the perky brunette came to over to Coulson and Garrett's area.

"Hi, I'm Skye," she announced.

"As in Blue Sky?" Garrett asked.

"SKYE," the brunette repeated, as she realized that she lost what little control over the scene that she once had possessed. "Like the Isle of Skye. Now, I understand that you really haven't met Jemma, officially."

"We met," Garrett announced. "Held her in my arms."

Phil Coulson slapped Garrett on the back of his head while the irrepressible Garrett widely smiled.

"As I gently carried her limp body to Medical, I worried so. I am delighted that you are feeling better, Dr. Simmons. I'm John Garrett." He smiled before he bent over her hand and kissed it.

Phil noticed, as did the other eligible bachelors that Simmons blushed. "Thank you and the Hibiscus were beautiful."

"I'm delighted," Garrett crooned. "I'm sure you know Phil Coulson. The rumors of his continuing death have been horribly exaggerated."

Phil took her extended hand and carefully shook it. Her smile faltered just slightly while she complimented him on the daisies so he didn't catch the full extent her unease at meeting Zombie Coulson. Then the two were introduced to Leo Fitz and they made small talk about the park. Meanwhile Jemma was formally introduced to Sitwell and Ward before Blake returned with Winston in tow.

The big dog with his dark soulful eyes, sat and adoringly stared at Simmons before spontaneously offered his heavy paw.

"Better check my sugar," Garrett hissed to Coulson who admitted that was about to die from 'The Cute'.

"May I?" Simmons carefully asked Blake who nodded.

Permission granted, she sank down to the ground and had a conversation with Winston, who nodded his head in easy agreement at key points.

"What a handsome fellow you are!" Head nod. "You are the best dog ever." Head nod. "You're just **_utterly_** wonderful." That earned her a lick from his tongue and Blake hissed in disapproval.

"No, no, no," Simmons cheerfully admitted even as she hugged a happy, docked tail wagging Winston. "I had a dog when I was younger. He's adorable and just so incredibly smart. He's such a love."

Blake clicked his tongue and Winston turned serious before he wandered away to sit next to Blake.

"Now that the introductions have been done, I thought we could perhaps go to a bar, so we can chat," Skye announced.

"Hey!" Ward yelled as he jumped. His loud shriek caused Phil Coulson and John Garrett to immediately produce their side arms even as Winston began growling. "Stupid dog!"

Side arms were quickly secured as it seemed that Winston had decided to water Grant Ward. Copiously.

"Perhaps he thought you were a tree, as you're just so stiff," snarked Fitz.

"He's **_not_** a stupid dog," hissed Simmons, who ferociously glared at Grant Ward. "I think you need to go home and change."

Grant Ward had just been found guilty of the following charges in the High Court of Jemma Simmons.

** _No Flowers._ **

** _Dog Hater._ **

The three old dogs tried not to smile victoriously in the Battle for Fair Maiden Jemma, but Sitwell looked horrified as how easily the competition had been eliminated, and how it was just him against THEM.

"Maybe if you can change quickly, Ward, you can meet us at the bar across the street?" Sitwell asked.

"We can't go to the bar," Jemma protested. "I insist that Winston **_must_** come with us else Agent Blake…."

"Felix," suavely inserted Felix Blake.

"Felix won't be able to join us and he must tell me all about that adorable dog."

And Winston waved his shaggy butt. Happily even while John Garrett began whistling, "Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye."


	4. Sinking of the Sitwell

The group settled at some sort of Mexican bar and there was a bit of a problem as Winston, the Giant Schnauzer, was not permitted to join their party at the formerly dog friendly bar. Blake rubbed his head and grimaced, "I'll go."

Coulson and Garrett shook their heads.

"Put his vest on," Garrett hissed. "It's too easy for you to run home. And I know if you bring Winston back home, you're staying in for the night.""

Phil Coulson nodded once in easy agreement and waved his hand.

"Can I speak to your manager in private?" Blake asked the waitress. Winston followed closely behind his owner as they moved away from the crowd.

"Should I help?" Garrett asked Coulson. Jemma noticed that the big man also seemed protective of the slighter Blake.

"Let him handle it," Coulson decided. "If it doesn't work out, I'll get involved."

Dog and owner soon returned to the Elder Agents of Shield and Winston was wearing his very snazzy Service Dog Vest.

"Apparently people bring in Chihuahuas in their Coach bags and claim that they're Service Dogs," Blake hissed. His face was a thundercloud and Winston looked properly affronted at the very idea of his awesome responsibility being managed by a… Chihuahua. In a Coach bag.

"I don't want any teasing," Blake demanded.

"Sitwell says anything I'll use his head as a billiard ball," promised Garrett.

"Not him, **_you_**," Blake insisted. "I hate…." He hated having a Service Dog, hated the reason why he had needed one… hated the condescending look from agents when they realized that Winston was sleeping in his office.

Winston's expressive face fell and he pouted.

"Never you, boy," Blake assured his dog with a brisk head rub, who promptly forgave his owner. "It's just too noisy in here for me…."

How he hated the feeling of claustrophobia that was threatening to overwhelm him even now. There were just too many people, too many in his immediate personal space and yet Garrett had been right. If he had taken Winston home, he would have stayed home in the safety of his apartment.

"I never treated Winston like a joke," protested a wounded Garrett. His face was dripping in sincerity, and even Coulson looked convinced at the earnestness of their very own trickster.

* * *

Ward and Sitwell had taken their chance to sit next to Jemma Simmons (no offense to the older agents, but they needed to move faster than their arthritic norm if they wanted to sit next to Jemma) and they flirted outrageously. Fitz looked unimpressed while Skye admired Grant Ward's chiseled cheekbones and hoped that Jemma wouldn't pick him as her choice in the sexual sweepstakes known as the Repopulation of America Act.

The three senior agents joined them and Jemma noticed that Winston was wearing a Service Dog duty vest and that greying Blake was stone-faced. Wisely, she said nothing, as she figured she'd get the details later.

"Round of drinks?" Garrett helpfully asked. "I'll pay."

He took orders and Coulson offered to assist, leaving Fitz sitting next to Blake. Blake grimaced a smile and Fitz returned it even while Jasper Sitwell easily flirted with a smitten Jemma (complete with devilish wink and easy smile).

"Time for Plan: Sinking of the Sitwell," Garrett announced when they reached the bar. "I saw a few people that owe me a favor. Promises to be moderately embarrassing and hugely entertaining."

At the end of the bar there was a gaggle of moderately attractive midlevel agents.

"Hello, Margaretta," Garrett smoozed. "I'm wondering if I could call in a favor? Coulson, do you know Margaretta? She works in legal."

A blonde with a full cleavage matched with a low cut top leaned in his direction. As he was a gentlemen, he kept his eyes above her shoulders though Lord, they were doing everything but jumping out and saluting him.

"Yes?" She purred.

"I'll buy your entire group a round of drinks if you could just play a prank on Jasper Sitwell."

The entire group of rather rapacious females grinned and Coulson felt a moment's sympathy for Jasper. But a quick look at Jasper showed that he was moving his chair still closer to Simmons and there was…_hand touching_. Flirtatious hand touching. And Grant Ward was looking with all calf-eyed adoration at the rather pretty Simmons, and Coulson came to a quick decision.

"I'll throw in another round and assorted appetizers if you pull Grant Ward into your bad girl shenanigans."

"Always a pleasure to help out several senior agents," she purred. She stood and began to saunter over to her friends.

"Margaretta?" Garrett smiled.

"Yes," she asked.

"More hip actionhe suggested.

"Like this?" She did a little wiggle and both older agents stared in fascination at her utterly alluring sway. Seeing the stunned look on her victims' faces, she decided it was just perfect. Her strut perfected, she went towards her victims, followed by her pack of undulating Sirens.

"If Simmons ever moved like that, we'd live in constant fear of dislocating our pelvises," Coulson admitted. "And remind me why are we protecting her from Ward and Sitwell again?"

"As SHIELD Agents, we are sworn to protect the innocent from nefarious souls who would do them harm," Garrett quoted verbatim. "Especially someone who doesn't appreciate the danger she's in."

Jemma blushed at something that Sitwell said and she turned and smiled at Ward.

"Such a complete innocent," the two men softly stated.

They pondered that thought for a long time before Garrett laughed. "I supposed I don't have to buy Sitwell and Ward a drink? I have a feeling that the party train is about to derail."

They toasted each other and decided it best to watch the carnage from afar. Less possibility of collateral damage that way.

"I hope Blake gets a good laugh," Coulson added after he took a very slow sip. "How's he doing?"

"This stupidity is actually good for him, as he is forced to do more than work. He has to meet people and actually talk to them. Winston is also helpful as he distracts him when Felix…."

Garrett stopped.

"Obsessively remembers how he got hurt during the invasion of New York?" Coulson asked. His tone was sympathetic though he never gave Blake any obvious sympathy regarding his issue. They were men, after all.

"He's quite claustrophobic now. Can't blame him as he did have a building fall on him." Garrett explained. "I was there when they found him and I stayed with him until they got him out. He was …. Completely catatonic as he had been under the rubble for almost two days. I thought the building was gonna come down on me, but I couldn't leave Felix, not under the rubble when he was so terrified that… he was trapped in his own head."

Phil nodded.

"And you were dead, supposedly. I thought I had lost my two best friend," slowly admitted Garrett.

"Sentimentality? At your age?" Coulson quipped.

"Fuck you, Coulson," snapped Garrett.

"You offering?"

* * *

Jasper Sitwell snarked a witty comment and Jemma found herself laughing. Really, this dating thing wasn't as bad as she had though as both Jasper and Grant were handsome and rather funny. However, Felix was a bit grim, and Winston rested his large head in his lap even while Felix compulsively stroked his head

There was a loud disturbance as a flock of scantily clad female agents descended upon the unsuspecting agents; much like the Avengers intent on Avenging New York City.

"Jasper Sitwell!" A female voice excitedly exclaimed. "You are such a naughty, naughty boy! You never called me like you promised. Didn't our fabulous night together mean anything?"

Meanwhile Grant Ward was also busy being assaulted by Lynette, a very buxom analyst who was sitting in his lap. There were multiple accusations of his infidelity and his lack of commitment by several women.

Jemma Simmons lost her brilliant smile. Instead, she looked at both men, realized that the only dog she liked at the table was Winston, who had snuggled his head in her lap. 'Don't worry, I love you best, besides Dad that is, as he needs me', his dark eyes informed her.

Really, her womb had been bartered off, without her permission and she was dealing with…. **_BOYS_**. Who had cared not a bit that she fainted (TWICE), who couldn't have been bothered to send her flowers (really, she possessed such low expectations from the grinning and smirking and winking Sitwell and Ward that a dandelion would have been nice) and who flaunted their numerous flings in her face….

Decision made, she kicked Jasper Sitwell and Grant Ward off the Isle of Possible Victors for Jemma Simmons's Eggs.

If she was forced to breed the future generation, she'd want a MAN, not a BOY.

"Felix, would you care to dance?" she asked.

The older agent looked confused so Simmons stood only after giving Winston a pat on his adorable little black nose.

"Get rid of **_them_**," she hissed at Skye. "They'll be gone before I come back."

"But, but, but…" Skye protested.

"Cross them off the list," Jemma insisted. "I am not wasting my time on them. I don't want flirtatious boys, I prefer established men because they have bigger pensions and bigger penises!"

Hopefully Felix Blake hadn't heard that.

* * *

"I think our Plan: Sinking of the Sitwell worked better than anticipated," Coulson informed Garrett while they watch Felix struggle to dance with Jemma Simmons. "Is that the merengue?"

"I think so," Garrett assured him. "Though he's not holding her very closely."

"Respectful distance," Coulson heartedly approved. "Kids look pissed. What's the next plan?"

"Befriending of Fitz," suggested Garrett. "He's a fierce little lion cub, he wanted to murder Sitwell and Ward when the gaggle of their discarded exs descended. You do realize that Sitwell and Ward had dated most of those women?"

"I don't keep track of their sex lives," a primp Coulson retorted.

"I do. It's better than watching drinking beer and watching really bad K-dramas in Korean sans English subtitles. I'll invite Fitz to meet us with tomorrow for some drinks."

* * *

"So, Felix," Jemma asked in a very bright tone as Felix led her to the dance floor. "How long have you had Winston?"

Blake swallowed and softly admitted, "When I was in the hospital after New York."

He was close to shutting down on her, completely, and she realized that she needed to tread very carefully. Fortunately Skye had hacked the system so she had an extensive biography of her various 'suitors'.

**_Felix Blake, 50. Level 7. Single. Never married. Trapped in the debris at SHIELD HQ for almost two days. Widespread injuries including multiple long bone fractures. Completely catatonic after extrication. Extensive therapy. Prone to claustrophobia, panic attacks in confined spaces. Therapy dog placement deemed a successful match between both. _**

"He's such a sweet dog," she said even as she placed his hands on her. Close, but not too close, she hoped as she began to sway to the music.

"Is," he finally agreed.

"On our date nights, you'll bring him, won't you?" she asked.

He nearly stepped on her foot but he nodded.

"Good, he's such a lovely dog. Perhaps we can have a picnic and you can bring a Frisbee."

She chitchatted while they danced, and then someone tapped on Felix's shoulder.

"May I cut in?" John Garrett asked.

Felix nodded and returned back to the table.

"Would you like to samba, Simmons?" he grinned even as he placed his hands just so. Close but respectful.

**_John Garrett, 55. Level 7. Single. Never married. Multiple commendations for various missions. Refuses to leave the field. Has a tendency of repeating war stories. Extensive stay in burn unit after experiencing third degree burns. _**

"Are you the dangerous one of the Three Musketeers?" Simmons questioned.

He gave her a wolfish smile, "You'll have to figure that out yourself. If you're partial to bad boys, go with Sitwell and Ward."

"And you're not a bad boy?" Simmons teased.

"Most assuredly not a bad **_boy_**, Simmons." He grinned at her and she felt her heart skip a beat.

No, no, no, he was most assuredly a **_man_**.

Fortunately, she was passed off to Phil Coulson shortly afterwards.

**_Phil "Zombie" Coulson, 50. Level 8. Single. Never married. Commendation for attempting to take on Loki one on one. Was severely injured, rumor is that he was dead for weeks and that whatever came back, really isn't the sane,_**

His hands were cooler than she anticipated, and she realized that she was shaking.

"Nervous? It's ok."

He possessed a very kind smile and gentle eyes, and that just made her fear even worse.


	5. Skye, SHIELD Social Coordinator

The dance ended quickly and Phil Coulson tilted his head. "Thank you for the dance," he stated.

"It was lovely dancing with you," she lied.

"Was it?" he asked, as though he really wanted to be assured that she had a lovely dance. "I'm out of practice."

"Wonderful," she lied.

There had been something off about his touch, one moment too loose, another time almost painful and his touch was chilly. However, he seemed happy that she enjoyed her dance with him, but there was sense of quiet desperation about him as though he really needed to believe her.

"Seems Skye wants you to come back to the table," Phil informed her.

* * *

Dancing with Simmons had been nerve-wracking.

Since Phil had come back, and come back wrong, he lacked the most basic human sensation - touch. The littlest things he once took for granted, handshakes for example, were a source of high anxiety for him now. Limp handshakes were frowned upon, but too hard a grip and he'd break fingers. Dancing, was even worse, as he wasn't sure about his hand placement or how much pressure he was applying.

The doctors informed him that his tactile anesthesia was actually psychosomatic. That it would return. Promise, promise, promise, once he dealt with whatever trauma he refused to face head on. For now, he lived a life where he had to constantly check the temperature to make sure he was dressed appropriately, that he wouldn't scald himself or …

And Simmons was nervous with him.

Correction, she was terrified of him.

Couldn't blame her as she was a twenty five years old woman with two doctorates who was facing the very horrific possibility of bedding a fifty year old Zombie Robot with a receding hairline. He had refused to answer the questionnaire, refused to do one single thing with this insanity and Melinda May had forced him – at gun point – to come to this meet n' greet.

And he heard the rumors how he was Wolverine Mean, and foaming at the moon mad… which meant what was in circulation was a thousand times worse.

What sane woman would want zombie babies to love?

_Oh, isn't little Phillie cute? Oh, ickie, his little itty bitty arm just fell off. _

"Blake and Garrett are both good guys," he blurted. "You could do worse than them."

_Like me, for example. _

She stopped walking towards Skye and she tilted her head. "What does that make you?"

What did that make him? A lonely zombie?

"You said I was a decent dancer?" he offered.

Unexpectedly, Simmons smiled and it was like a fucking sunrise.

His first glimmer of light after two years of pitch black darkness.

* * *

Jemma Simmons returned back to the table, grateful that Sitwell and Ward had slunk off to their sewers like the rats they were. Since there were a great many open seats, she decided to sit next to Blake, and the absolutely adorable Winston.

An obviously rattled Skye put on a fake smile and attempted to get the Mating of Jemma Simmons back on track.

"I thought tomorrow would be a good time to start you on the solo dates," Skye began.

"Sorry, got plans," Garrett quipped while the other men agreed.

"What?" Skye asked.

"We're actually going out with Fitz tomorrow tonight," Garrett barked.

Skye's fake smile fled to Vegas, taking her sanity with her. "You're dating… _Fitz_?"

Her voice was most assuredly a squeak. After all this was her first outing as a Social Coordinator and it had sunk faster than the Titanic. Two candidates had been kicked off the island, the band had just started another chorus of "Nearer My God to Thee" and apparently one, if not more, of the eligible (And elderly) bachelors were at least a 2 on the Kinsey Scale.

It was back the paperwork dungeon for her, where files upon files of paper expense reports waited for her.

Plus Fury had ordered her to "NOT ! %#$# $ screw this one up or I'll make you # % #$P% #P$% regret it." Plus or minus a few P(P *%

"We're taking Fitz out for a drink or four," Blake quietly stated.

"Naturally, he's concerned about Simmons…" Coulson began.

"Jemma," inserted Skye as Rule #1 was that the victims…. No… the involved parties needed to use their first names. To promote a sense of friendship, like they have a CHOICE in this rather personal matter.

"And wanted to get us to know better to confirm that our intentions are honorable," continued Coulson.

"Oh," Skye stated as she stared at the horrified Fitz who looked like all the world… no, all the universe… as though he was screaming '_**Help Me**_' at the top of his Scottish lungs. Then she tried again. "So, your solo date with Agent Blake…"

"Felix," slyly inserted John Garrett who realized that Social Coordinator Skye was close to cracking like an egg.

"F-f-f-felix… Will be the next night?" The social coordinator's voice trembled.

"Group," the men (including Fitz) informed her.

"What are you planning?" Skye asked.

"Blake?" Garrett asked.

"Felix," Coulson snarked.

"A surprise," the startled Blake immediately stated. "Wear jeans."

"Now, that's settled," Skye continued, as though everything was just going just … swimmingly. She pulled out a Stark Pad and handed it to Simmons. "Here's the reveals on the questionnaires. Since we're down to just three possible bachelors, there's only three for you to review."

"I never filled one out," Coulson protested. "I never filled … **_GARRETT_**…."

"John," Skye announced before she flushed. GOD, they were breaking her! And they were all supposed to be on the same side.

John Garrett shook his head, and Blake also denied his involvement in the spontaneous completed appearance of Coulson's unanswered questionnaire.

"Well, Agent Coulson," Skye began.

"Phil," chorused Garrett, Blake and God help her, FITZ.

"Someone did."

God, it was a whimper.

"I didn't," Phil protested even while Garrett took the Stark Pad from Simmons.

The older agent browsed for a bit, and shook his head after he reviewed it. "Captain American Fan Boy, reading novels, and your obscene enjoyment of classical music."

"I find it calming," Protested Phil

"I find it snooze-ville. It's all in there, all the Coulson Quirks. If you didn't fill it out, someone who knew you very well completed it."

Jemma Simmons took back the Stark Pad and smiled. "Well, it's time for me to go home as it's a very early morning for me tomorrow. Meeting you three, it's been very….," she paused, searching for the right word to truthfully state how the evening had gone (But vague enough so not to offend anyone).

"Horrifying?" Felix quipped.

"Terrifying?" was Coulson's suggestion.

"Absolutely fucking fantastic?" Garrett inserted.

"Bloody traumatic, and nightmare inducing," Fitz helpfully suggested, which cause Garrett to roar and give him a friendly backslap that nearly caused Fitz to land face first on the table.

"I like him," roared Garrett, while Fitz whimpered in true pain.

* * *

Jemma Simmons returned back to her apartment and attempted to secure the door behind her. In her haste to escape her life, she shut the door on Fitz. He managed to push his way in and then he took one look at her and headed toward the fridge.

He returned with two bottles.

"You didn't bring one for yourself?" she asked.

Fitz smiled and handed her a bottle.

"They want me to go drinking with them tomorrow," he whined. "I think Garrett nearly broke a few ribs when he backslapped me."

"If you're trying to sympathize, you're completely failing at making me feel better," she snippily informed him. "Drinking with them, doesn't compare to … "

She refused to say more.

"I'll get you another beer," he offered.

"Quickly," she ordered, even as she curled up on the couch. "Then I can read off their answers to their questionnaires and you can guess who they are. For example, who likes astronomy and plays acoustic guitar?"

Fitz pondered for a moment and announced, "Easy, it's Blake. Calluses on his left finger tips. Not so noticeable on his right so I'm assuming he uses a pick."

"One for One. Who like cuddling on a Sunday morning?" She asked.

Fitz didn't even ponder the question before he announced, "Coulson."

"How did you know?" Jemma asked.

"He didn't fill out a questionnaire, so someone else answered his questions. No straight man would have put that down as an answer. Let me look at Coulson's questionnaire," he requested as he pulled the Stark Pad from her hands. He reviewed it for a bit, compared it to the other two men's questionnaires and shook his head and gave it back to her. "A female answered that."

"How do you know?" Simmons asked.

"There's a sensitivity to his answers that Garrett and Blake don't quite have. So either a female, or the rare mythological unicorn known as a gay male who is touch with his emotions, answered it. Since I haven't seen a unicorn…."

"Because you're not a virgin," Jemma helpfully inserted.

"It's a female." Fitz continued.

"Fitz," Jemma pleaded as her composure was about to shatter. "I… I…."

He sat next to her and gave her a one-armed embrace. And he let her cry.


	6. Fitz and his Little Green Monkeys

In this AU, Garrett is not Hydra. He's just a sassy smart ass who is loyal to SHIELD.

* * *

Garrett, Blake, Coulson and Winston, too, headed to Garrett's apartment. Winston was de-vested and he promptly went into Blake's bedroom for a nice, long snooze. After all, it was quite exhausting keeping Felix out of trouble, let alone Phil and John.

"On the positive side, she didn't faint twice," Garrett announced as he pulled three beers out of the fridge.

"Not even a quiver of an eye roll," Blake inserted. "However, I did detect the whiff of fear."

"She did look like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming tractor trailer," admitted Coulson.

"Can't blame her," Garrett announced after he took a long swig from the bottle. "No doubt when she was having daydreams of the possible husbands, she didn't anticipate damaged men old enough to be her father."

"Maybe, it's a good thing," Felix slowly spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Because when you've been completely fucked over as we have been, you're not quite as willing to have someone else experience it."

"Especially when she's a pretty girl?" Garrett asked.

"I admit that I feel less sympathy for your myriad issues," Blake dryly admitted. "You are pretty fugly, Garrett."

Garrett retorted a long obscene physical impossibility and Blake shook his head. "Why do I let you live here?"

"You and Phil have fifty percent custody of the kid, so I switch between Mom and Dad," Garrett explained. "So where are we going on 'date' night, Blakey?"

"No fucking clue," Blake admitted. "Can we talk about anything else?"

The three men, being men, argued about sports (basketball, and baseball – though Garrett was quite partial to hockey), who was the bigger ass, Sitwell or Ward,(Ward as at least Sitwell had a sense of humor and could make a decent pot of coffee which redeemed him in Felix's eyes) who had the better hair line (Felix), who'd win in an all-out battle to the death between Hulk and Godzilla (Hulk as he was scrappy and mobile), should Garrett get another Harley (Yes, but update his life insurance policy due to his spectacular crash that hadn't really been his fault as really the bear had lumbered in front of him but it had been pretty ugly, and no, they really didn't want to hear the story about how he managed to do a back flip off the bike and put one shot between the bear's eyes to ease him out of his misery but since he was telling it again (and lying badly) Coulson could get them another round of drinks) but they didn't mention how much they'd prefer if they weren't in this rather unique situation with Jemma Simmons.

Phil Coulson returned to his apartment (fortunately in the same building) and called Melinda May. She answered immediately.

"I know you wanted the details. She seemed pleasant…." Coulson admitted to May. "However, much too young for me."

"That's the idea," Melinda murmured.

"My questionnaire was filled out by someone who knew me quite well," Coulson continued. "However, some of the answers didn't put into consideration my tactile anesthesia, which means… you and Maria as you believe it's all in my head. Why did you fill it out?"

She said nothing.

"I mean, I find it hard to believe that this was completely chosen at random. I mean, it was almost like someone found the three most damaged senior agents they could, and forced them to deal with Sitwell and Ward just…." He stopped before he added, 'to force us to protect Simmons from those two idiots.'

"Sweet mother of God," he spat. He hung up on her and dialed Felix.

Blake was brilliant at seeing patterns lost among minutiae which made him one of SHIELD's top most analysts and field officers. He must have seen what was happening and for some reason, he hadn't commented.

Garrett answered Felix's cell phone and Phil asked for Felix.

"What's the array on Simmons?" he snapped when Felix answered the phone.

Felix took a minute and began to reciting what he had recognized in a very crisp, dry tone. From the timbre of his voice Coulson knew Felix was deeply disturbed.

"Level 8. PTSD due to traumatic resuscitation. Hit the wall, hard. Attempts to install false memories to replace memories of conscious brain surgery failed. Level 7. PTSD due to being buried for forty eight hours, physical trauma and extensive stay in the hospital. Claustrophobic, snappishness, noted concerns about possible OCD with rituals and repetition. Level 7. PTSD due to extensive time in burn-trauma unit. All three senior agents have been documented as being withdrawn and emotionally detached with…. With… junior agents expressing…. logical concerns….about being assigned to any missions that are being overseen by these three agents due to their extreme detachment….to their inferiors…" Felix stopped.

"Fuck," Coulson whispered.

"Level 5. Two doctorates, including one on …." Felix paused. "The over reliance of genetic and medication modification of bioreceptors in individuals experiencing Post Traumatic Stress."

"Fuck," Garrett swore as Felix had placed his phone on speaker. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I can't turn it off," Felix spoke quickly, far quicker than his norm. "I see patterns, and designs, configurations and arrays in everything. Even when it's not really there, I see things and…. I just can't turn it off and I just wanted to be fucking normal for once. To actually go on a date with a pretty girl and… I just wanted to be fucking normal again. To not constantly judge how safe I'd be if the building collapsed when I'm sitting in a room. I can't even use a fucking elevator for fuck's sake without my legs shaking."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Coulson asked.

"Because I hoped I was wrong, that it was just the OCD talking and talking… and talking," Blake admitted.

"Getting Winston," Garrett stated before he left the conversation.

"Talk to me," Coulson ordered even as he grabbed his keys and headed toward Felix's apartment.

"They chose us deliberately, because she's a just fucking kid and… they knew how we'd react – that she'd hit all our fucking buttons. Because at this stage of our lives, we realized how much gave up for SHIELD and we're doubting it was worth it. OWWW!" Felix protested.

"Good night, Blakey," Garrett rumbled.

"You drugged me."

"Yup." John Garrett was succinct.

"You **_drugged_** me."

"That I did," Garrett rumbled. "Least I gave you the really good stuff."

Phil arrived just as Garrett was putting a drowsy Blake to bed. Winston was not sure of what was happening so he was staying quite close to Blake and looking not too happily at Garrett.

"He's been on one of his insomnia jag where he paces the floor and playing his guitar at all hours. When he started talking that fast, I knew that he needed to get some sleep before he crashed hard," explained Garrett. "I think he's been up since I showed up on Tuesday. Claire also quit on him."

"No great loss," Coulson murmured as well, Claire couldn't even make coffee. Instant coffee. "What happened?"

"She had another string of Clairiesms and he snapped at her when she complained that she was allergic to Winston. Quote 'he's mean' and 'I have feelings, too' in the complaint to HR."

"Uncaring, heartless son of a bitch actually," mumbled Felix.

"Apparently, you're not the only one," deadpanned Coulson. "Get some sleep. Garrett and I have a date to plan."

The two men walked out of Blake's bedroom and they stared at each other.

"Bowling?" Garrett asked even while Phil grimaced and mouthed, "Bowling."

"She already thinks we need to be in a retirement home, do we need to promote that idea?"

"Parachuting?" was the next hopeful and totally ridiculous suggestion.

"You're **_hopeless_**, it's no wonder you're not married," Phil snapped.

"What's your excuse, Romeo?" Garrett retorted.

"I died," Phil dryly reminded him. "But this should be somewhat… personal?"

"Think Blake would give a concert on his guitar?" Garrett asked.

Phil shook his head. Then he snapped his fingers, "Does he still have his telescope?"

"Excuse me, would you like to see my etchings?" Garrett snarked but then he turned serious. "He mentioned something about a convergence that's occurring soon. So, picnic dinner, we'll have to go off the grid because of the interference from the lights. Maybe Connecticut, we'll need the Jeep."

* * *

Skye saw Jemma Simmons in the SHIELD hallways, and Simmons fled.

"No, no, no, we're not talking swatches," she protested when Skye caught up with her.

"Of course not," Skye insisted.

Jemma Simmons stopped dead and Skye nearly tackled her.

"We are most assuredly not deciding if I'm enduring natural childbirth," Jemma protested, her voice close to panicking.

"No, no, no!" Skye bubbled. "I thought we could have a girl's night tonight as Fitz is doing whatever with the boys."

Jemma hissed, "They're most assuredly NOT BOYS. I think they're all card carrying members of the AARP."

"Hey, I thought you were cool with that last night? You were the one that commented bigger pensions, bigger penis, weren't you?"

Jemma glared at Skye and she carefully enunciated, "Perhaps if you were in my soon to be spread position, you might feel differently."

Skye deflated, and nodded her head. "No, I'd feel exactly the same way, except I'd be hacking the hell out the computer system in the hopes of funding my escape. So your place at seven?"

"Bring the wine," Jemma ordered. "And the Pizza."

"Chick flicks?" Skye asked.

"My life is poorly written chick flick, so something with a strong female protagonist would be a delight. Or just scantily clad men who are under thirty and are built."

"**_Terminator_**!" Skye bubbled.

Jemma's face was flat when she didn't smile.

"Oh, Zombie Robot dude with the sharp suit," Skye sighed. "Sorry. How about **_Gladiator_**?"

* * *

Fitz and Jemma's three possible suitors were sitting in the corner of a bar. He smiled, nervously, and the other three men smiled… grimaced back…

"So," Garrett began. "Celtic or Rangers Football Club?"

"Rangers," Fitz admitted, and that started the inquisition of Leopold Fitz with him and John Garrett matching drink for drink.

* * *

"This isn't good," Coulson said to Felix as they pushed, pulled and provoked the two drunks into the Jeep.

"He outdrank John!" Felix exclaimed. "I didn't think that was physically possible."

The two men, who had stopped drinking half a liver or so ago, sighed.

"At least they're both happy drunks," Felix dryly admitted.

"I just wish they were quieter," Phil growled.

"It would be better if they could carry a tune," was Blake's dark comment as the two happy drunks began another chorus of "Someone to Love".

"I love you," Garrett assured Coulson and Blake during a break in the song. "Love you both like brothers, and regardless of this Simmons situation….that's never gonna change."

"She's not a Simmons Situation," Fitz slurred as he forcibly poked Garrett. "She's _Jemma_."

"Right, Leopold. God, I **_love_** this kid even if he likes the Rangers," Garrett announced even as he hugged Fitz tightly. "You trust us with Jemma right?"

"You hurt her, I'll kill you…. Painfully," Fitz assured Garrett.

"That's cool, because you can trust Philly and Felix with her. Me, not so much, so you tell her to be nice to Phil and Felix. They're responsible adults, me, not so much. I'm good for fucking, fun and fighting, not much else."

Fitz giggled and Garrett hugged him once more. It was a rough embrace. "We need to stop at a pet shop and buy this kid a monkey as a thank you for all the information he gave us on Jemma tonight. How about a green monkey?"

Fitz giggled again even while Blake and Coulson stared at each other.

"They're a polygynous bunch, so we'd need to get a male money and a few female monkeys," Fitz excitedly explained. "I could have a whole family of little green monkeys!"

Garett laughed and leaned towards Fitz, "I know Simmons is a nice girl, but do you think…. She'd be interested in a polyandry relationship with Felix and Phil? That way any kids would have two fathers, based on the Tibetan concept of Partible paternity."

Felix Blake turned to Phil Coulson and roared, "**_HIT THE GAS_**."

Meanwhile, Garrett decided to continue his serenade of his captive audience.

_Been beat up and battered 'round  
Been sent up, and I've been shot down  
Simmon's the best thing that we've ever found!_

_Handle Phil with care_  
_Reputations changeable_  
_Situations tolerable_  
_But baby, you're adorable_  
_Handle Phil with care_  
_Felix is so tired of being lonely_  
_He still have some love to give_  
_Won't you show me that you really care..._

"I used to like the Traveling Wilburys," protested Felix.

"Same here."


	7. The Revenge of Sitwell

Fitz was blitzed.

Absolutely blitzed.

Phil Coulson and Felix Blake supported him while he staggered to his room. To her horror (as what could be worse than her BFF getting trashed with the Elderly Trio) John Garrett sat down between her and Skye and smiled. Drunkenly.

"Felix and Phil are really good men," he informed her. "You could do a lot worse than them. You could be stuck with me, as I'm just good for….the three f's. That's …. Fun… fighting… and…"

The smile on his face left nothing to her imagination, then he leaned towards Skye who looked like she desired to run for the hills.

"Go do something social," he brusquely ordered. "I need to talk to Simmons."

Skye fled the scene (the brat) and John Garrett turned sober, which meant the entire drunk bit was an act.

"I want to talk to you about Blake. He's got OCD, so sometimes, he gets … odd. He has really struggled with it and people can be vicious. Winston's helped a great deal, but sometimes, Blake gets in his head so deep he can't find his way out due his personal demons. Please cut him some slack if he starts acting odd. And if he gets too deep in his head, you contact me or Phil. Please."

She nodded once.

"Thank you," he said. "Now, continuing on, what they say about Phil isn't true. He's not a zombie or a vampire and he sure as hell doesn't sparkle in the sun. The truth is, he got hurt really bad and it's been a long recovery for him. He's a really good man. One of the best."

Simmons tried to smile but failed, "So, what about you?"

"Call me Porthos," he quipped. With that, he retreated back in his supposed drunken stupor until he exited her apartment with Coulson and Blake, after promising to see her tomorrow night for date night, leaving Jemma Simmons completely confused about one John Garrett.

* * *

Jasper Sitwell could charm the knickers off a nun, so it was surprisingly easy for his goal of revenge to be achieved.

"He'll fucking freak," he chortled. Part of him, the decent Jasper was concerned, deeply concerned that his victim might not find it funny, but the evil Jasper didn't care.

Ward laughed.

"When he walks into his office, and sees her, he'll flip."

* * *

Felix Blake had a long night where his mind raced and raced like a gerbil in a wheel.

Claire had quit.

**_Quit_**.

She had quit before. Numerous times. Claimed he was unstable and every other word he had ever called himself.

But she had always returned after he crawled on broken glass and admitted that he was an ass. After he bought her a triple espresso with four sugars and three shots of vanilla and a half shot of caramel and a cinnamon bun.

So rationally, he knew that she's probably be there in the morning, but that voice that wouldn't… just wouldn't… shut up was yapping 'She quit!'

If she had really quit, he'd have to get to work earlier tomorrow so he could review his analysis for Yalta.

There were agents that were depending on his analysis, to make sure every angle was measured, every possibility thought out but his mind was racing, racing, racing because people could die, and would die, if he fucked this up and he needed to be on the ball and if he had a new assistant who… couldn't fucking make coffee and he was back in the collapsed building, feeling the weight of the debris on top of him, feeling it shift, know that he was going to die, die, die and… he just wanted … wanted… wanted… to move his legs, but … they were broken… broken.. and…. and…they fucking hurt …. Hurt… and every time he tried to breath, the weight shifted and… he screamed and no one could hear him… and… Jemma Simmons was there… in the debris and it was his fault, because she wasn't part of the equation and he hadn't been thorough and… it was his fault, because losing Claire had rattled him because he had gotten used to her, had learned to depend on her and she had left, left left, and he hadn't been thorough and… he had made a mistake and Simmons was hurt and …. They were all gonna die because he had forgotten to reread page four.

He just needed to be at his best, to be fucking perfect… because if he wasn't, someone would die and it would be his fault.

At three in the morning, he just gave up. He'd just make it an early day. A very early day.

"Winston, come on, time for work."

* * *

Felix noticed immediately, that her desk was bare.

A quick inspection showed that everything was gone, including her secret stash of red Twizzlers.

He could handle this.

He could get through the debriefing and do it well. He didn't need Claire. All he needed was his whiteboard and Winston, because really Winston was a far better assistant than Claire, she of the inability to make coffee. Winston was a much better listener, didn't interrupt and never, ever left early to get his nails done. Plus Winston accepted Felix Blake for the utter nutter that he was and all he asked was for the Frisbee to be thrown.

He ran through the various self-calming techniques until his heart rate was down. He could do the debriefing easily. Everything had been quadrupled check, especially page four, so no would die, as ridiculous as that was, and … he was in a good spot.

Until he walked out from his office to discover his new assistant was…. Skye who was blasting hip n' hop and dancing in her chair.

"Hey, Agent Blake," she chirped. "I'm your temp."

His zen flittered off to parts unknown.

* * *

Phil Coulson entered the debriefing and he noticed, immediately, that Felix Blake was not in a good head space. Fortunately, he was early enough so he positioned himself next to Felix. As he was leading the meeting, he was also able to skillfully guide the debriefing so Blake was able to report his findings to the various senior agents.

"Good job, Blake, you covered everything very thoroughly," Coulson murmured.

"I'm very good at thoroughness," the other agent agreed. Then in a failed attempt at humor, he added, "Obsessive one might even say."

"You ok?"

"Claire's working for Sitwell now," Blake explained. "My new temp, our social coordinator. Sitwell, again. I think it's payback for the bit at dinner. He wanted to rattle me, see how I'd self-destruct. She sits at the desk and sings really bad pop songs, Phil. In Mandarin. Which I'm fluent in. 'Uh oh.' It's in my head!"

"You didn't have anything to do with that Margaretta and the girls, that was Garrett and me," Phil protested.

"I'm the weakest link of the three of us," Blake reminded him.

Phil just shook his head.

"Do you ever get tired of being the running joke?" Blake quietly asked.

"Of being the butt of every Zombie joke? Yes," Coulson admitted. "I try to laugh, but I want them to feel what I endured. See if they're laughing then."

"Which is worse? Feeling **_everything_** so strongly that your mind has to race and race to process it? Or not feeling anything at all?" Blake asked. "I think I envy you, being comfortably numb."

"I know I envy you," Phil admitted.

"Don't," Blake requested. "How long have I known Simmons? Two, three days? And I wonder… wonder… **_wonder_** what it would be like to be normal with her. To not live in constant fear that my idiosyncrazies will decide to make a command appearance. I'm tired of being ridiculed, it's like people don't realize that I know how insane my behavior is. I know how crazy it is, but it's like… scratching an annoying itch. I scratch and scratch until I'm bleeding and I can't stop."

"You are sane," Phil firmly stated.

"You and our cyborg buddy are the only ones that think so," Blake reminded him. "Speaking of which, don't tell Big Brother John about Sitwell. Borg Boy has this pathological need to protect people."

"He feels that he owes you since you saved his life," Coulson reminded Blake. "You rechecked that analysts' intel and realized that he had completely screwed up the data and Garrett needed a new extrication plan. He's just looking out for you, like you do for me and him. The three of us watch each other's back."

"Problem is his way of looking out for me usually involves him punching someone," protested Blake. "I'm not a fair maiden in distress."

"Agreed, especially with that stubble," Coulson retorted which caused them both to laugh.

"Why don't you take an early day?" Coulson suggested. "You have to plan for date night."

Blake rolled his eyes.

Meanwhile John Garrett had overheard their conversation, well, enough of it for him to walk over to Sitwell's office. He barged in, told him to take off his glasses and then he punched him. Since Ward was chortling in Sitwell's office, Garrett decided to punch Ward also.

After all, it had been a whole three months, two weeks, six days and forty seven minutes since Garrett was last suspended for punching someone, so it was time for another long chat with Fury on how not to handle his aggression.

"You think it's funny to fuck with Blake?" He asked the stunned Sitwell. "Only if you're man enough to fuck with me first, Jasper."

* * *

She decided that it would be a nice day for a walk for lunch as the weather was perfect. She had just left the building when she saw Felix Blake and Winston. Blake de-vested Winston and Winston the Serious Service Dog turned into Winston, Wonder Puppy, which meant that he ran over to Simmons and wagged his docked tail in sheer happiness.

"Winston!" Blake protested. "Don't make me vest you."

Winston rolled his eyes and then nudged Jemma's hand for a scratch.

"Vest him?" she asked.

"If he's wearing the vest, he's off duty. If he's vested, he has to behave. He needs time off to be a dog, however, if he insists on acting like this, I may keep him vested until we get into the car."

Winston pouted. Really. A big pout which caused Jemma to laugh and scratch his adorable face.

"You're such a love, Winston," Jemma insisted. She realized that Felix Blake appeared very uncomfortable and she felt a moment's compassion for him. "Are you on lunch? Do you want to get lunch? I know a really good Armenian place nearby."

"I…. I…." Blake stuttered and then shook his head. "Gotta go. See you tonight."

And Blake made his escape while Winston jogged happily alongside.


	8. Flying the Garrett Airlines

"Harem of a certain age" is from Lachesis Grimm, as she is brilliant.

* * *

John Garrett, newly suspended SHIELD agent, whistled a happy tune. He even cracked his knuckles, which thankfully remained unbroken.

"See you in a week," he reminded the also suspended Sitwell and Ward who wore matching black eyes.

Nick Fury gave him a hairy eyeball and John Garrett widely smiled.

"I think I'll take a vacation as well, I'm still getting paid," he said, as he deliberately salted the open wound. "However, it was rather generous of you gentlemen to both donate two weeks' salary to Soldier's Animal Companions Fund."

He jauntily sauntered out and then once he closed the office door, he stretched his painful back, until his vertebrae popped. "Damn cybernetics," he growled. "You'd think they'd be able to do something about the pain."

He had been rebuilt using the finest in cybernetics, and while his various replacement parts worked just as well, if not better than the originals, the nagging pain was constant. Some days better than others, some days a lot worst, but punching Sitwell… well… worth every single excruciating moment. And bitch slapping Ward, a big fat cherry on the four scoop vanilla ice cream with hot fudge and sprinkles with extra real whipped cream sundae.

His phone vibrated so he pulled it out of his pocket. Like he anticipated, it was a profound, profanity laced text from one irked Phil Coulson, but Garrett smiled when he saw that Coulson had added a "Thanks for doing what I would have done. Since your sorry ass is suspended, and you've got time to kill, here's what you need to pick up for tonight. I've already paid."

Baguettes, assorted cheeses and exotic meats for sandwiches, fruit, graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows were part of the list plus an address for Phil's supplier.

"Coulson, you old romantic, you. Smores?"

* * *

Phil seemed to be really happy with Garret's recent bad behavior as Phil's supplier (GROCER, Coulson had long futilely protested as comparisons to his supplier and drug dealers irked him) had a small package set up just for John Garrett, defender of the downtrodden and ridiculed.

"Biltong beef jerky," he guessed, as it was something he had picked up a taste for when he had been in South Africa for a long tour with nothing to do. And with the economy being ass over tit after the battle of New York, well, it was pretty rare.

"Four bags," the supplier informed him.

And not the small sample bags either, but the pound bags.

Agent Coulson was quite delighted with his Strike Team, it seemed.

* * *

Jemma Simmons strolled for a bit, lunched, returned back to HQ and discovered the bane of her existence, well, one of them, Skye, in her office. The young social coordinator looked absolutely horrid, eyes red-rimmed and mascara smeared.

"What happened?" Jemma asked.

"F-f-fury," she admitted. "Garrett punched Sitwell and Ward because they harassed Blake because of what happened at the bar. Because I let everything get out of control, I've been permanently assigned to be Blake's assistant and I have to learn how to make… coffee. **_Good_** coffee…which is hard to do as I destroyed his coffee machine. I'm also not to play music when I'm in the office. No singing either. I'm to be seen and most assuredly not heard."

"What happened to Claire?" Simmons asked, as Claire Weiss was the subject of much sympathy among the lower SHIELD agents due to her role as Blake minder.

"She threw a snit and quit, which she does with regularly frequency, normally she just shows up the next day like nothing happened, however Sitwell convinced her to request a transfer…. And … and… Fury shredded her up and down and right and left, told her the only reason she wasn't out on the street panhandling was because Agent Blake has repeatedly covered her screw ups. And that loyalty like hers would be properly rewarded."

Simmons' expressive British mouth dropped.

"Sitwell and Ward plus Claire… are being sent to the Contamination Zone for a month to help with the cleanup. It's safe, but they'll have to wear the Zoot Suits. Speaking of Zoot Suits… what are you wearing tonight?"

"What?" This conversation was making no sense.

"I'm still your social coordinator and… if I fuck this up, I'll only wish I was Claire."

* * *

At their prearranged meeting space, in front of Blake and Coulson's apartment building, Jemma and her Harem of a Certain Age plus their chaperones (two humans and one dog) were trying to figure out the car situation.

"Since they're seven of us," John Garrett began, "We will need to take two cars to the airport. Blake's got his jeep, so Winston and Simmons with him."

Blake froze.

"I'll take the rest in mine. Everyone ready to go?" Garrett continued as he completely ignored Blake's silent scream for help.

"I should be with Simmons," Skye suggested.

"Don't worry, she'll be fine. Felix is an absolute gentleman." Coulson assured Skye.

"Besides he'll need one hand for the wheel and one for the shift," offered a very unhelpful Garrett.

"And after the incident with the coffee…." Coulson continued as though he hadn't been interrupted.

Garrett nodded his head in agreement.

"I never saw that type of machine before," protested Skye. "I didn't get an inservice!"

"And it's not likely you'll ever see another Bonavita BV1800 again," snapped Blake. "You turned it into a fireball."

"As I was saying," smoothly inserted a very somber Coulson. "Probably best if you are not in the same car. Blake's taking the loss very hard as it will be almost impossible to replace."

Phil winked at Simmons and the corner of his mouth was turned up slightly which made him surprisingly cute. For a Zombie.

"It's almost like Coulson didn't show up every morning, coffee cup clutched in his hand, begging for a cup," Garrett inserted. "Our beloved Bonavita brewed coffee to the perfect temperature as each coffee bean willingly gave up its life so others could survive the Fury morning meeting. It was like liquid ambrosia straight from the heavens. Should we have a moment of silence? Perhaps Skye could say a few words, beyond, 'Ooops!'."

Silence.

Long silence.

"Agent, we're waiting for your eulogy," Coulson prompted.

"I really fucked up," Skye admitted which caused Garrett and Coulson to stifle laughter.

"It's just a fucking coffee machine," snapped Blake. Then in a very dry tone, he added, "A really good fucking coffee machine... which is now molten piece of modern art defying any and all attempts at categorizing it. However, Agent, what did you learn from this experience?"

Skye stared at her feet and finally she mumbled, "Always make sure there is water in the coffee pot before I make coffee."

Garrett couldn't help it, he started laughing. Hard. "Time to get to the airport."

"Airport?" Simmons asked, as she was getting very confused.

"We're heading to a dark sky park for some night time stargazing. It's located in Pennsylvania," explained Blake. "Garrett's flying us there."

"Wait until you see the size of Blake's telescope," Garrett offered which caused Coulson to wince. "He's got an eight inch…."

"John?" Blake questioned.

"Optical tube," John Garrett looked confused and then smiled a very bad boy smile. "Are you embarrassed because you've got an eight inch …"

"JOHN!" Coulson hissed in obviously pretend horror. "There are ladies present."

"Optical tube. It's a sweet telescope. Not like the one I had when I was in high school, but honestly, stars weren't the heavenly globes I was using it to view. What? Why is everyone looking at me like that? You know the old saying, difference between men and boys? It's the…"

"Price," inserted Coulson and Blake.

"Size of their toys," Garrett merrily continued. "Go grab your stuff, time's a wasting."

* * *

Fitz grabbed her jacket and shook his head. "The three of them are pretty funny, aren't they? They're not what you anticipated, was it?"

"What do you mean?" Jemma asked.

"That the three of them are really tight and the rumors to the contrary, they seem pretty sane," explained Fitz. "Coulson and Garrett teased Blake and he took it well."

"They weren't cruel about it," Simmons decided. No, they had been rather droll and took as well as they gave.

"No, not like Sitwell and Blake," Fitz stated. "They think they're funny but they're not."

"Why do you say that?" Simmons asked.

"I've seen the three of them together. Blake didn't tense up. When he deals with other agents, he's very tense, very rigid in how he stands. When he's with Coulson or Garrett, he's relaxed…. Well… relaxed for him. Same with Coulson, he's usually quite terse normally."

"And Garrett?" Simmons asked.

"He's Garrett," Fitz said. "Now go, Bachelor #5 is waiting for you in his Jeep."

* * *

She buckled herself in the passenger's seat and then she smiled at Felix Blake. "What's a dark sky park?"

"Too much light pollution and you can't see the stars. I mean, you can, but… not…clear. You don't see the Milky Way or Andromeda," he explained as he shifted his Jeep into gear. "Have you done any…. Stargazing?"

"Never," she admitted.

"Some people… really like it," he slowly offered. Then in a much softer voice, "And some people… really don't."

They were at a stop light and she noticed that he was knocking his left hand against the driver' window. Rhythmically… compulsively… but his hand was clenched tightly as though he was struggling to stop.

"Skye's my new assistant as Claire really quit this time," he blurted. "She was singing this horrible song in Mandarin. Sadly, I am fluent in Mandarin and she kept singing it over and over again. It's god awful and it's wormed its way into my brain. I'm more annoyed about that than I am about her destroying my coffee pot."

"I hate when a song wiggles into my brain," she said. "I find myself tapping my toes at the most inappropriate times."

He nodded his head before he spoke. However, Jemma noticed that his left hand had relaxed and the tapping wasn't quite so loud.

_So,_ _it's when he's trying to control his tics, that they get worse. Which makes him only try harder which makes them more noticeable. _

"Phil and John are good men," Felix abruptly informed her. "Garrett's a little loud, but he believes he's quite the wit. At times, he's actually funny but Phil's really deep. There's a lot that goes on in that mind of his."

Jemma nervously twittered and Blake recoiled, "I'm not joking. They're both damn good men."

"I'm not laughing at you," she protested. "Ok, maybe I am, but actually I'm laughing at you, Phil and John. Each one of you have taken the time to reassure me how wonderful the other two are. The only one of you who thinks he's absolutely wonderful and isn't afraid to let me kn_o_w is Winston."

He nodded his head once and he didn't say another word. However, his left hand tightly clutched the steering wheel.

* * *

"Ok, who wants to be copilot?" asked Garrett when they finally arrived at the airport. He casually slouched near his car, but there's an awkwardness in his stance that Jemma Simmons realized comes from being in physical pain.

"I am," Felix Blake announced even while Skye excitedly waved her hand and did everything but jump up and down and then jump down and then up to gain Garrett's attention. Decision made, Blake opened his truck and began taking out his telescope and other items.

Phil Coulson glanced at Blake, saw how tightly controlled he was, and then his eyes shifted ever so slightly her way. His eyes narrowed, and then then mild mannered Phil Coulson appeared in his place.

"So this is your new Cessna, Garrett?" Phil asked.

"Won it in a poker game," John joyfully explained. "Did I tell you about it?"

"Heard that already, didn't believe it," Blake inserted. "There's no way you'd win this in a poker game."

"How about the story where the grateful Saudi princess gave it to him after saving her life?" Phil asked. He reached for the scope, and Blake shook his head.

"I'll let you guys pack, and I'll play stewardess with our guests," Garrett decided.

"Winston, follow Garrett," Blake ordered.

* * *

"There are four passenger seats, you need to sit next to Coulson," Skye hissed as Jemma, Skye and Fitz scouted out the plane. "This is a group date night. Date night means you do things with the guys. Not with Fitz and me, but the guys."

"You rode in with Blake and survived," Fitz explained.

"I think I upset him," Jemma protested. "Unintentionally."

"Then give him a makeup snog," Fitz suggested. "Don't do it halfsies, do it properly or not at all."

"That's good, really good, excellent dating advice from Fitz," Skye chirped, before she realized what she had just said.

"I date a great deal more than Simmons does," Fitz proudly admitted.

"He's bit of a slut like that," Simmons snapped.

His hands are placed just so on his hips and plastered on his face is a look of horrified disbelief. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are."

"Sister Jemma, get out of your habit and leave the cloister," Fitz snapped.

"Coulson's coming, get in the backseat," Skye said, even as she and Fitz physically pushed Simmons into the backseat.

Then Simmons found herself sitting next to Coulson. She shivered, and being a perfect Gentleman Zombie as he covered her with his light jacket. "Garrett likes keeping the air conditioning on high. I'm sorry, it's a little tight back here," which was an understatement as they were sitting quite close to each other, knee to knee and hip to hip.

Plus, Winston was sitting in their row. He was wearing a stylish set of Mutt Muffs on his ears and he was leaning his head on Phil's leg.

"Is he good with flying?" Jemma asked.

"Loves to go flying," Phil assured her even as Fitz and Skye sat in the row above them. "Put on your headset. You don't want to go deaf."

* * *

"You ok?" Garrett asked Blake. The two men were located outside of the plane and Garrett was concerned about Blake's behavior.

"Twitchy," was Blake's terse explanation. "I won't touch the stick, I promise. I just can't be back there with Sim….some of them. Not when I'm about to twitch out of my skin. How about you?"

"High pain day," Garrett tersely admitted. "I'll feel better when I'm flying. Promise. Let's do some flying. Let's get in and do the flight precheck."

Garrett sat in the pilot's seat and he adjusted his seat until he was moderately comfortable. Ok, somewhat uncomfortable. That done, he keyed his microphone. "Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to Garrett Airlines, where we will be taking a quick flight to Pennsylvania for a night full of stargazing led by my co-pilot Felix Blake. Just a reminder in the case of an emergency…."

He continued to prattle for a bit, as he loved, loved, **_loved_ **a captive audience, before he announced that they were about to leave the airport, however he just needed to do a final check. "Gotta kick the tires and light the fires," he announced. "Then we're off."

Jemma Simmons squeaked and it sounded as though John Garrett had stepped on Winston's favorite stuffed dragon with the multiple squeakers.

"Coulson," Garrett questioned. "Did you just… perhaps… behave inappropriately with Dr. Simmons?"

"GARRETT," growled Coulson.

"Just asking," Garrett explained. "It just sounded… highly… suggestive…."

"John, don't you have tires to kick?" Felix's exasperated voice echoed over everyone's headset. "Simmons, what's the problem?"

"No problem, none at all! None!" she lied. Most horribly as Skye shook her head at her while Fitz smirked as he knew why she had reacted so poorly to Garrett's choice of words. "Don't look at me like that, Skye. Don't you have an innocent coffee pot to set merrily ablaze?"

"If there's no problem then why are you shaking your head and trying to hide your face?" Coulson asked.

Felix clicked a few switches and tersely announced, "From the way Fitz is smirking, it's probably just a joke that we're the butt of. Like normal."

"No, no, not at all," Simmons insisted.

Coulson tapped her knee, pointed at her, then at Blake, and then gestured with his hands. **_What the hell?_**

She just shook her head and he nodded his head in tired understanding. He pulled out his Stark pad and tapped out a message.

** _CRANKY / CLAUSTROPHOBIC. IT'S REALLY BAD FOR HIM IN SMALL PLANES._ **

She gestured for the pad and he gave it to her.

**I laughed at something he said. Shouldn't have.**

** _Can't blame him. When you're an old man, it's rough when a pretty girl laughs at you._ **

**I didn't laugh at him. Really.**

** _I know. He overthinks a lot. _ **

John Garrett returned back to the pilot seat and he closed the door**. **

"Are we ready, copilot?"

Blake nodded.

"Very well for our inflight entertainment, I have guitar music as performed by my copilot," Garrett announced even as guitar music filled their headsets.

"This means war," Blake growled.

"Pilot Garrett, are we there yet?" Skye asked.

"NO," Coulson, Blake and Fitz protested as it promised to be a very long flight.


	9. Stargazing

Coulson pondered Simmons' recent behavior after Garrett had innocently quipped about kicking the tires. He tapped his fingers on his seat for a bit and then the light dawned with a flash akin to a detonated A-Bomb.

"Whose tires are you planning on kicking?" He blurted even while a horrified Simmons squeaked again.

"Phil, I think you've forgotten that it's Open Mike Flight on Garrett Airlines, so everyone just heard that," Blake snarked over the headsets. "Seriously, how the hell did you ever become an 8?"

Coulson grabbed his jacket back from Simmons and deliberately and primly placed it over his lap. Then he put his hands on his lap, a physical fig leaf, if you would.

"Someone care to share the hahas with the pilot?" Garrett quipped.

"No!" squeaked Simmons.

"More squealing from the back, do I need to come back to separate you?" Garrett asked.

"Not at seven thousand feet," growled Blake.

Phil felt sympathy for Simmons as she was trying to hide. In the back seat of a six person plane. But he couldn't help the fact that he really wanted to laugh because it seemed that the trio shouldn't have been trying to protect Simmons, no, they should have been trying to protect themselves from Simmons! He really shouldn't laugh; that's why he couldn't face her. He couldn't look at Blake either, as Blake's shoulders were shaking as he was struggling not to laugh.

_Fifty years old men and kicking tires should not be in the same sentence! In fact, they most assuredly should not be in the SAME PARAGRAPH._

"Are we there yet?" Skye asked.

"No," Garrett answered.

* * *

Jemma Simmons wanted to die.

Or at least disappear, because the three bachelors, her Harem of a Certain Age, insisted on a quiet conversation in the middle of the stargazing site once they had arrived. The trio had intently talked about her reaction to Garrett's comment about kicking the tires even while Fitz and Skye had set up their picnic. The Harem had struggled to be circumspect and polite, but Garrett nearly choked when he realized what it meant, and then he had nervously pulled down his turtleneck to cover his groin, Coulson's jacket was placed just so in his hands so everything vital was covered and Blake's hard shell telescope case wasn't anything but Freudianly Phallic which caused him no end of embarrassment, and the three of them looked at her…. Horrified… and … bloody hell, Garrett noticed that where her gaze was focused, so he pointed at Phil Coulson… PHIL COULSON and stated something about Ultra High Performance All-Season Tires. Phil slapped Garrett's hand and then motioned toward Blake and his set of Grand Touring Tires, which caused Garrett to be declared as a set of Extreme Performance Drag Racing Radials.

She turned away from her Harem, hunched her shoulders and fled to a quiet part of their encampment, wishing for death. Or an earthquake that would swallow her whole. Simmons jumped when Phil Coulson touched her arm.

"Come on, don't do this," he softly protested. "Today's supposed to be a nice day for everyone, especially you, so come on, with me. We were just teasing each other, Simmons. It's what we do."

Then her Harem each spoke to her separately as they each apologized for making her feel uncomfortable, but really, they had only been joking with each other.

After she had promised, promised, **_promised_** Garrett that she wasn't angry with him, he hugged her. "Now, listen to me, if you're gonna kick tires, kick Felix. Tire kicking with him will be worth the trouble. Promise. He's very intense and very thorough in everything. He'll make your tire checking …. Pleasant."

"How do you know that?" Simmons asked.

He arched an eyebrow, gifted her with a bad man smile, and then shook his head. "Jemma… none of us will ask for information on who you kicked tires with, so return the favor."

Blake was all sharp angles and prickly points as his armor of self-defense was fully deployed, but he told her to bed Phil as he'd treat her very well (This discussion was held in the most diplomatic way possible as well, as he reminded her, they were all adults (with the exception of Garrett) and they weren't pretending that there was love involved). When Phil told to try out Garrett because Garrett would be … a great deal of fun…, she desired to scream.

Her womb was apparently the subject of interest for everyone. EVERYONE.

"What's the problem?" Coulson asked as she returned back to her Harem. It seemed Coulson was fluent at reading the Unhappy Simmons face.

"All three of you have very helpfully recommended another man if I was in the urge to kick some tires. Should I strip down now?" She requested. "Let you three have your way with me. It seems this particular matter is now out there for open debate."

God, she was going utter barmy as for a brief moment, she wondered what it would be like. Big mattress, with three men worshipping her, perhaps one mouth at each breast, one between her legs with a great deal of stroking with gentle hands. Then reality hit – Garrett would talk her to death, Blake would have charts and analysis and graphs and potential outcomes of various trajectories, while Coulson's touch would be stiff and chilly.

Blake grimaced and Garrett motioned for Coulson to speak as it seemed Coulson as the Senior Ranking Agent and Member of Jemma Simmons' Harem Consisting of a Certain Age Bracket was the Vox Populi or perhaps Vox Coniugis.

"No, no, **_no_**. Understand something, we're a great deal older than you and we have sufficient life experience to know that sexual capability is very important in a relationship. However, we were a little surprised that you had obviously discussed the matter with Fitz. Though if you can't even say the word, sex, to us, you'll need to become more comfortable saying it; because whatever this insanity is, if this gets to that stage, there will some blunt and frank discussions held," Coulson explained.

"If you want to say frickle frackle, I won't mind," inserted Garrett which earned him painful elbows from both Blake and Coulson. "I find it rather cute."

"And you?" Simmons asked Blake.

"I overthink everything," he admitted the understatement of the century without a trace of irony. "It would be nice….if it happens, it was…. Organic…. Spontaneous… but Phil's right. What's your experience? What's your expectations? How are we supposed to make this entire experience less traumatic for you if we don't hash it out? It needs to be discussed thoroughly so there are no surprises."

Simmons opened her mouth and then closed it.

"I think expectations for tonight are dinner and stargazing," Coulson inserted. "Let's go eat."

"Then we have to lock up everything securely so we don't get bears," Garrett loudly announced.

"Bears?" Fitz asked. "As in Lion, Tiger and Bears?"

"Bears," repeated Coulson.

* * *

Jemma Simmons sat on a log and ate her sandwich. Skye sat next to her and leaned towards her.

"How's it going?" Skye asked.

"I offered to spread my legs," Simmons stated, as she in THAT type of mood and she wished to shock Skye. She didn't like the way she was acting. Simmons normally liked following the rules and doing what's expected of her. It made her feel nice, but now she felt like a balky broodmare being led to stud and she was determined to kick and lash out anyone who thought they could ride her or guide her. Fitz knew she was in a foul mood as he was deliberately avoiding her.

"Let me guess, Garrett said, 'Hell, yes', Blake wants a graphic analysis of your responses to certain physical stimuli and Coulson wanted to wait until we find a five star hotel for a bed with a high thread count," Skye chortled. "Or are you doing more than one at a time?"

That was the final straw. Her sex life (or more truthfully the lack of it) was her business and hers alone, and while she had gotten herself into his particular position (BAD USE OF TERMS, Jemma, she warned herself) because of her noticeable reaction to Garrett's innocent use of a rather loaded phrase, she had enough.

"I've decided I'm watching and taking notes while Garrett and Coulson dominate Blake," she snapped, as she grabbed her simply delicious prosciutto di parma, Vermont goat cheese, and arugula smeared with just the perfect amount of fig spread sandwich and stormed off to a new location. She wasn't watching where she was going, so she bounced off the movable physical barrier known as John Garrett, who grabbed her and her sandwich before she went arse over tit.

"You look upset. Why don't you sit down here with me, so you can have your sandwich in peace?" He offered. "I make Agent Skye of no known last name nervous."

She nodded and sat down on the log. He sat down next to her but first he placed his jacket around her shoulders. It was ridiculously large on her but he nodded.

"Blake and Coulson didn't hear you," he quietly informed her. "Thank God, because that comment about Blake would have pushed Felix over the proverbial edge. Even the thought of being restrained makes him panic and the thought that it's one of your sexual fantasies for him would just cause him to have a nuclear meltdown."

"Oh God," she whimpered. "Don't you have something funny to say somewhere else? Some quip that needs to be voiced?"

"No," he stated. "Because I need to talk to you on behalf of the Trio of Old Men that Jemma Simmons Obviously Doesn't Want to do the Frickle Frackle with. I understand that you don't want to, bluntly, fuck any of us, old, damaged men. Your aversion is coming across loud and clear, but we're trying really trying to be polite and respectful. You owe us the same courtesy."

John Garrett had startling deep blue eyes, she realized even while she struggled to protest.

"I know this isn't easy for you, but Christ, Simmons, it's not easy for us. You think we wake up every morning and the first thing we think is, 'Oh, yay, twenty six year old girl friend. Let's knock her up and have plenty of babies?' No. Blake wakes and for that brief moment, he fears that he's stuck under tons of debris. Coulson is terrified that he's being wheeled into brain surgery. No matter where they are, the brief moment when they wake is full of panic and desperation and an overwhelming need to escape."

"And you?" she asked.

"I have a brief moment when I am completely pain-free and I remember what is used to be like for me. Then the pain flares anew. So, for now just stop it; by that I mean, the thoughts that Blake's a basket case, that Coulson sleeps in a coffin, that Garrett's a gregarious goon. That's not who we are, Simmons. What we are, are three men, trying very hard to act like gentlemen in a situation that all three of us would prefer if we weren't involved in."

Garrett leaned closer to Simmons.

"I don't think you're intentionally cruel, else I would have left you for Sitwell and Ward. I just think you've heard a lot about us, so you're justifiably concerned, and most of it, ain't true. And I understand that you're disappointed because we're not Prince Charming on a white horse. We're a bunch of old men, who've been torn asunder, who have pretty much French-Kissed Death, and who, because of our advanced age, are now facing the very real possibility of having children with you that we will never see grown up. Instead of a white horse, I ride a Harley, Phil's got his 'vette and Blake's got his Jeep."

She nodded as her anger had faded, to be replaced by the understanding that yes, Garret was correct. Then John Garrett smiled.

"So stop freaking out," Garrett ordered. "The three of us, we're not an easy crew to deal with, but we are trying to be on our best behavior. We're certainly not going to take you carnally in the middle of the cafeteria."

"I will try to stop freaking out," Simmons said.

"Good, as your meltdowns, justified as they are, have ripple effects of deeply disturbing the three of us. Now, changing the subject - like your sandwich? Phil made it. He makes a good sandwich though sometimes he gets a little exotic in his toppings. Felix on the other hand, makes a really good stir fry," he informed her.

"And what is John Garrett good at?" she asked.

"PB&J sandwiches," he admitted. At her frown, he added, "Calling takeout? Lifting heaving objects? I know! Flying planes!"

"Protecting your friends," she informed him.

He rolled his eyes and then stood. "Ask Felix about his guitar collections, ask him to play for you. Phil fanboys over Captain America. He's partial to the classics, classic cars, classical music. He's got a 'vette named Lola."

"Lola?" Simmons asked, with a smile. "Well, what about you?"

"We seem perfectly capable of having a conversation. Time for me to help set up the telescope. Poor Felix, I should hand feed him a smore or something, he's worried about grease on his lenses. He worries so much about everything, Simmons, don't give him more."

Garrett nodded and then left the area, leaving Jemma alone with her truly delicious sandwich.

* * *

"Should we be nervous that Garrett and Simmons are having a conversation?" Phil asked Felix while they munched on their sandwiches.

"She's not crying, so that's a good sign," Felix asked.

"Here he comes," Coulson commented.

"She's calmer," Garrett assured them when he finally joined them. "I think sometimes this insanity just completely overwhelms her."

"Her?" Felix quipped.

"We're older. We're men. We're completely out of touch with our emotions, so we're screwed," Garrett confirmed.

"Poor Simmons," Coulson murmured.

"Got another sandwich? I'm hungry," Garrett asked.

* * *

Felix adjusted the telescope and finally, he announced that it was ready.

"Who wants the first look?" he asked, having already accepted that it would just be Phil and John. Stargazing was a stupidest idea ever for a 'group date'.

Jemma Simmons stepped up the scope and smiled. "Me?"


	10. Logistics, Scheduling and Procurement

Later that evening...morning.

"See… everyone's so much calmer now," Garrett informed Jemma Simmons as the others packed up the campsite. The two of them were supposedly completing a pre-flight checkout but instead they were chatting as Garrett did everything. "Blake's not actively looking to defenestrate, Coulson's isn't anticipating that Buffy Summers will drive a wooden stake in his heart and I'm no longer convinced that you'll throw a walker in front of me so I'll trip and break a hip."

"I wasn't that _bad_," Jemma Simmons retorted.

John Garrett smirked at her, and she looked at her feet. "I didn't mean to be."

"We all have bad first introductions that we'd like to take back," he admitted. "Except for Ward and Sitwell. Always remember that bad impression."

"Am I not supposed to know that you three set that up with their old girlfriends?" Jemma asked. "It was rather obvious."

Well, now it was. At the time, not so much.

"Phil and I did it as we made a firm vow to be the SHIELD and defend the innocent from evil doers," Garrett assured her. "Blake wasn't involved as he's had problems with Frick and Frack, so he avoids them at all cost. Now I'm sure you remember how some of us had to fill out a rather detailed questionnaire for you to review? Time for you to fill a small one out for us."

He pulled out what seemed to be a very large pamphlet from his jacket pocket and bowed as he presented it to her.

"We'd like it by Monday, please." He smiled. Widely.

"It's forty two pages," she protested.

"Some are multiple questions, while others are essays, which we would like single spaced, please. It's only fair, and I've already talked to Fitz and he won't be filling it out for you. It's very difficult for us to take you out on dates if we don't know what you like to do you in spare time besides dissect things."

"Forty…." She began.

"Forty two pages," he stated.

"I'm being tagged-team right now, aren't I?" Simmons asked. "Coulson…."

"Phil," John Garrett retorted. "Let's not cause our Social Coordinator's head to spin. Poor girl is having enough issues as she melted Felix's coffee pot in her first hour of working for him."

"Phil leads the serious conversation, you are sent into charm and smooze…. And Felix…." Simmons asked. "Is he analyzing my responses and plotting a scatter graph?"

"Felix likes his coffee from a little shop called Café Grumpy," John informed her. "Don't smirk, it's got good coffee so I'd suggest picking some up for him on Monday as a thank you for dragging his eight inch…. Telescope… out into the wilds of Pennsylvania and spending the last four hours talking about the Greater and Lesser Magellanic Clouds. Felix likes Santa Teresa black, in the gallon jug size, and they have dog biscuits for Winston that they make just for him. Stop by and tell them you want the Blake Special and they'll hook you up. I'm partial to the Heartbreaker Expresso. Phil's a bit of a snob, Toarco Toraja is his favorite. And since we had to fill out a questionnaire, I think it's only fair that you have to fill it out. How else will we know where to take you on Group Date night?"

"Group Date Night?" Simmons repeated with a tremor in her voice.

"We ain't going into your lioness's den without backup, Simmons," John Garrett informed her. "On Single Date Night..."

"Single Date Night?" Simmons squeaked.

"Stop it with the squeaking," John requested. 'Yes, Single Date Night. There will be Group Date Nights as that way you get to deal with the three of us in a controlled setting. Single Date Nights are one and one dates where you get to know one of the eligible bachelors better – those will take place as soon as we old men loose our justifiable fear of Dr. Simmons. That's scheduled for month three."

"Me?" Simmons protested.

"YOU," retorted Garrett.

"I've never had anyone afraid of me before," she admitted. "I rather like it."

"I've created a monster!"

"So questionnaires, Single Date Night, Group Date Night. Time lines. You've put a great deal of thought into this," Simmons murmured. "Did Blake… Felix…. Put me into MS-Project?"

"That's not nice, Dr. Simmons," Garrett chastised. "Agent Blake had a building land on him. He broke both legs and his pelvis. He was trapped for close to forty-eight hours under debris and he was awake for all of it, with each shift of the building's weight, he thought that would cause the building to completely collapse on him and crush him. If he needs MS-Project to deal with this godforsaken insanity, cut him some slack."

"You're very protective of Felix," she remarked.

"He saved my life, I owe him, though he gets tired of me nannying him."

"Does he know you're suspended as you punched Sitwell and Ward?" Simmons asked.

"No, he'll be really pissed when he finds out," Garrett admitted. "Next question?"

"What conversations does Felix lead?" Jemma Simmons asked.

"Logistics," Garrett admitted in a very dry tone, which left Jemma Simmons confused if he was teasing.

"Logistics as in **_Procurement_** and **_Scheduling_**?" She repeated.

"Group Date Nights take a great deal of effort, as the three of us are very busy men, with full social calendars and we had to squeeze you and your merry sidekicks in."

"Basketball season is over, so… **_baseball_**?"

"What? You don't think women and men aren't lining up to date us?" Garrett protested.

She rolled her eyes at him and he barked a laugh.

"Someone has to make reservations, plan a nighttime of unforgettable fun and festivity," he stated. "Plus have sufficient bail money. Seriously, we're taking you out, we plan, we pay, as that's the way we were raised. We have access to your calendar, so Felix has sent invites for the next two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Simmons murmured.

"I think it's impersonal, but after experiencing your obvious lack of enthusiasm for your Harem of a Certain Age and Receding Hairlines first hand, we decided it would be less ego-bruising if we sent e-vites. Sunday night is Coulson's time to plan, so it's Sushi night. Just the four of us, as it's a very small spot. We'll have the Itamae do omakase. Bring your appetite as their sushi melts in your mouth. Then there's a Japanese Film Festival afterwards. There are subtitles."

"Sushi?" Simmons repeated as she wasn't really into sushi. "Japanese Film festival?"

"Yes and Yes. Group Date Night is scheduled for three times a week, it's not like we're dating every night," he explained. "Felix should be the one discussing the schedule with you, but since I'm here, I'll let you know. We're planning on ramping up the number of dates per week as we get closer to the deadline. You've got six months before you make your decision on who the lucky man will be. I'll pick you up on Sunday afternoon at four. Have you ever ridden a HOG?"

"HOG?"

"Fatboy," he continued before he paused "Ah, that look on your face, I'm talking about my motorcycle, not me. And I'm not a fat boy, I've got big bones. That's what my mum always told me. I'd appreciate if you'd get your mind out of the gutter, please. Also wear boots as I don't want you to burn yourself on the exhaust pipe."

Jemma Simmons nodded her head, realizing that she was adrift on the seas of fate, and it was just best to hang on.

"Time to load up," Garrett announced.

* * *

Fitz didn't say anything when they returned back to her flat, so Simmons sighed. "Go ahead, say it."

"No, no, no," he protested. "But I'm glad your attitude improved as you were a right stroppy cow in the beginning. I felt bad for your … boys…."

"Was not," Jemma protested.

"Was too! Moo. Moo. Moo. So….I noticed a distinct lack of snogging," Fitz offered.

"FITZ!"

"No snogging. None at all," Fitz mournfully announced. "Good thing they're being forced to date you, because when I date, I anticipated snogging on the first date. And not a dry, auntie kiss, but proper snogging with a great deal of tongue."

"I'm not that type of girl, I don't snog on the first date," Simmons primly stated.

"Especially as you'd have to queue them up in order to snog them. Would it be order of height or age?" Fitz asked before Simmons thwacked him HARD. "What's the next date?"

"Sushi and a Japanese Film Festival," she offered.

"Bluck," Fitz offered as he had an issue with textures. "Raw fish?"

"You're not invited," Jemma informed him. "Nor is Skye."

"Which is good as she's scared of your guys," Fitz insisted. "Coulson arches an eyebrow and she faints. Let's not even talk about how she's terrified of Blake who seems merely to want a decent cup of coffee."

"You mean she's afraid of… my Harem?"

"Harem? I don't think they'll let you keep all three of them," Fitz reminded her. "You get to try them all out and return two of them to the dating pool."

THWACK!

"Jemma, your harem members, they do know that you really haven't dated?" Fitz asked. "I mean, they're men, Jemma, not boys. There may be certain expectations on their end."

"I'm not a virgin, Fitz. I've had sex," protested Jemma. "More than once."

"And he broke your heart by sleeping with half the bloody Academy, male and female."

"I know where all the parts go, Fitz," Simmons snapped. "I won't need a bloody diagram."

She stormed off to her bedroom, as well, she didn't need to be reminded about THAT. Plus she had a fifty seven page questionnaire that needed answering.


	11. Questionaire and a Question

Jemma Simmons' Harem of a Certain Security Level and Income decided to pool intel in Felix Blake's apartment.

"Good job keeping Simmons talking so we could gather intel," Coulson congratulated Garrett. "Blake?"

"Fitz is worried about Simmons," Blake answered. "Wanted to make sure that I warned everyone that we are to be on our best behavior or else he'll kill us. Death by 'The Seven Dwarves', sounds deliciously Disneyfied Death."

"I like Fitz," Garrett laughed.

"What's your analysis, Felix?" Coulson asked.

"Very concerned. Impression I got... concerned because of a reason…. Issue… incident in her past," Felix admitted. "Deliberate in his threats on how we had to behave. Had to treat her well. Now that she's passed the 'OMIGOD they're so goddamn fucking old and crazy' stage, she's still… jittery. Like it's the first time…."

Phil curled his lip and appeared terrified, "Oh good God, **_no_**. This is where I get off this crazy train."

"No, not **_that_**. Kicking the tires would not brought into the conversation. Or that simply classy comment about her strange fetish to watch you and John dominate me while I was catatonic in true terror. Most virgins don't talk like that unless they've been busy highlighting **_50 Shades_** in hot pink highlighter."

"You've got to like a woman who's willing to explore," Garrett commented. "Though I did warn her that comment was in very bad taste. I told her that you don't swing that way."

He sat down next to Blake and gave him a simpering look. "Oh, honey, you're more into…"

"I'm in Gagging Garrett about now," snapped Felix. "Anyway, she's acting like's it's the first time in a long time that she's been out."

"Kid gloves then," Garrett announced. "Getting a beer. Anyone wants some?"

Two head nods.

"I'll know more after she finishes the questionnaire. I'll run the data analysis on it and let you review my findings," Felix explained.

"Forty two pages, what the hell did you ask her?" Phil questioned.

"I grabbed most of them off eHarmony," Blake admitted. "Then I sprinkled in a few questions to keep it off balance so she couldn't detect a pattern. If she was a flower, which one would she be? Does she like dogs? What's the difference between an egg and a rock? If you were on an island and there was a box, what would be in the box? Those will take her several hours to answer as she's quite verbose. Hey, John? Grab some chips while you're there, ok?"

Blake leaned towards Phil and whispered, "I don't think I'm up for this assignment. I need to recuse myself."

"You're not leaving me with John on this," protested Phil.

"My condition… my illness… there are thoughts that my mind might focus on," explained Felix. "Not nice thoughts involving Simmons. I couldn't deal well if those thoughts were in my mind. It's a possibility now as she did make that rather rude comment."

"Oh," Phil exhaled.

"Yes. I need to be immediately relieved of this assignment. However, I'd really prefer that the reason for my withdrawal is not made public."

"Felix, there are many different ways your condition can present itself. You check things compulsively, you worry about unintentionally screwing up and causing someone to get hurt, and you need order and symmetry. You're not a hoarder, you don't wash your hands until you bleed, and I can assure you that I highly doubt you've ever had a moral thought in your head. Plus, Sitwell and Ward are still among the living so you have not had any homicidal thoughts."

Felix relaxed slightly.

"Have you ever had a sexually violent thought about anyone, Felix? Answer me truthfully, because I will get you removed from this if you tell me yes, but I want the truth," Phil quietly requested.

"Never," Blake admitted. "But since New York, I don't think about it, at all."

"Liar," Phil retorted. "You're not dead, Felix. I know you've done the Frickle Frackle since New York."

"Two people I trust that can handle me if I freak out," Felix admitted. "Who the hell calls it Frickle Frackle. Say it what it is, **_fucking_**. Rub and tug, even, but frickle freckle?"

"Don't use that naughty word in front of Dr. Simmons," John chastised. "Couldn't find your chips, so be a good host and find them, wontcha?"

Garrett settled while Blake cursed a blue streak, muttering that Garret was too lazy to actually look for anything.

"Felix is thinking deep thinky thoughts, isn't he?" Garrett quietly asked.

Phil wearily nodded his head once.

"Mainly worried that he might start having sexually violent fantasies about Simmons."

"Not Felix," protested Garrett.

"It's a possibility with my diagnosis," Felix admitted as he handed Garrett a bag of chips.

"If you did start thinking… these thoughts…would you act on them?" Garrett asked.

"NO," Felix protested.

"Starting acting like Marcus Daniel?" Coulson questioned. "Stalking or otherwise putting her in danger? You haven't this urge to start spouting off ridiculous poetic nonsense of her being the light of your kife, the center of your universe?""

"No," Felix intently stated. "No, never. And seriously, Phil, I'm the most unpoetic soul I know."

"If for any reason, I thought you were a danger to Simmons, I'd put a stop to it. Yet, I'm not sure if this is a legitimate fear or just you worrying about hurting someone… which is another OCD symptom that you have in spades. When's your next appointment with your counselor?"

"Monday night," Felix admitted.

"I'll talk to him?" Phil offered. "Get the lay of the land, and if he believes you to be a danger to Simmons, then I'll get you removed."

"Please," Felix requested. "I'll stay away from Sushi night."

"No," Phil insisted. "If you misbehave, I'll taze you."

* * *

**_If you were a flower, which one would you be? Why?_**

**_How far east can you go before you're heading west?_**

**_If the answer is blowing in the wind, then is the question swimming in the waves?_**

**_If you jaywalk in a J shape, then are you automatically considered a criminal mastermind?_**

**_Phil is to _ as John is to _ and Felix is to __**

**_If a jogger runs at the speed of sound, can he still hear his iPod?_**

**_If man evolved from monkeys, how come we still have monkeys?_**

**_How can something be "new" and "improved"? if it's new, what was it improving on?_**

**_What type of animal is Snuffleupagus?_**

**_If you had a three story house and were in the second floor, isn't it possible that you can be upstairs and downstairs at the same time?_**

**_You're a new addition to the crayon box, what color would you be and why?_**

**__**Jemma Simmons took a quick gander at the questionnaire and decided it was time for bed.

* * *

Sunday 4:00 PM.

There was a knock on her door, and Simmons peered hopefully at Skye and Fitz who had decided to have dinner in the Fitzsimmons' apartment. Perhaps they'd decide to leave.

No such luck.

"I wonder who that could be," Fitz asked.

"I don't know, why doesn't Simmons open the door and find out," helpfully suggested Skye.

"I hate you both," Simmons firmly stated.

"Be home by eleven, but maybe I should tell your gentleman friend that," Fitz insisted, in his best paternal tones. "Invite your gentleman friend in."

Simmons scowled as both Skye and Fitz giggled. Thankfully they stopped when she opened the door to reveal John Garrett in black jeans, obligatory turtle neck, black leather jacket, and he had two motorcycle helmets.

"Hello," Garrett announced. "Wearing leather boots, that's good. I figured we'd can practice in the parking garage for a bit before we get out on the open road."

"Practicing what?" Skye asked.

"Riding double," Garrett gleefully exclaimed. "On my Harley. Shall we go?"

"Is it safe?" Leo Fitz protested.

"You want safe, catch a ride with Phil or Felix," he retorted. "In this Great Trinity, I'm Maheshwara."

John Garrett gave her explicit instructions on how to ride as a passenger, a great deal of practice in the parking lot …. All of which she promptly forgot when he left the parking lot with her in tow. She just grabbed his waist and hung on for dear life.

Bastard was laughing, she knew it.

* * *

She clung to Garrett like her life depended on it (As really it did) but as her fear faded, she realized that he was actually cruising at a sedate speed with plenty of stopping distance and a slow acceleration. They were soon joined by another motorcyclist who had a passenger also. They acknowledged Garrett and she would have waved…. Or done something, but she was still holding onto Garrett.

The other passenger was relaxed and he was most assuredly NOT clutching his driver.

They drove side by side for a bit until they both turned left and pulled into a small side street. There was a small parking lot and they pulled into it, where Garrett turned off his bike. He stood and she stayed glued to the bike.

"You can get off now," Garrett offered as he removed his helmet.

The other motorcyclists were revealed to be Felix Blake with Phil Coulson in the bitch seat. Phil easily got off the bike as did Felix. They looked at each other, looked at Jemma and then wordlessly extended their arms to help her get off the bike.

And both being perfect gentlemen, they didn't say a single word when after she got off the bike, her knees gave out and she nearly fell.

* * *

"We'll need to take our boots off," Phil explained to Jemma. "They have tatami floors."

"Oh," she said, because she suddenly remembered that she was wearing a rather funky pair of socks.

"This is a traditional Japanese sushi restaurant. I found it one day and I keep coming back as the fish is always fresh," Phil explained. "Felix and I will help you with some of the traditions. Just follow us, and don't jump when they yell, '_irasshaimase' _when we come in."

"There's yelling and raw fish," Simmons repeated. "Sounds delightful."

"Sorry, Phil wasn't in the mood for Pizza Hut," Felix Blake growled.

"Come on, Jemma, this is a chance to experience something that you normally don't do. Enjoy it," protested Garrett.

She was standing in her hot pink sock clad feet when the staff member yelled, "_irasshaimase_!" Fortunately, she didn't jump.

"Smile, nod your head," Felix hissed while Phil spoke in Japanese to one of the staff. "They will hand you a wet towel, wipe your hands with it. Don't use it as a napkin. Phil's ordering the _omakase_ from the _itamae_ which means that he's trusting the chef to prepare the best of what he has."

"Him?" Simmons asked.

"Women's hands are deemed too warm to serve sushi," Felix explained. "We order the sushi from the itamae, while everything else is from the waitress."

"This is all very confusing," Simmons admitted.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of you," promised Garrett, which is how she found herself snugly sitting between Felix and Phil. John was sitting on the other side of Felix and she was staring at the raw fish, wondering what each was. Meanwhile, the boys chatted in Japanese with the _itamae_, who seemed familiar with her delinquents as he pulled out a bottle of sake for them. Fortunately,Felix kept up a running translation for her. He seemed… in an odd mood, as though he was forcing himself to be sociable.

"No Winston?" She asked as really, she was a little nervous as Blake still seemed rather prickly.

"I don't bring him everywhere," Blake tersely explained.

"We usually don't bring him when we're having dinner," Garrett inserted. "One time Phil turned his head and Winston ate his Kobe steak."

She couldn't help it, she giggled and Blake glared at her. He had really intense sky blue eyes, she noticed so she looked towards Phil, who was nodding his head in agreement.

"He's really a remarkable dog," protested Blake.

"Felix, your dog ate a forty dollar piece of steak," protested Phil. "Took it off my plate."

"Actually, I gave it to him," admitted Blake. "He was hungry, you were flirting."

Jemma giggled at the horrified look on Phil's face.

* * *

Dinner was surprisingly relaxing, as the men…. Boys… Harem members… seemed to settle down. She learned proper etiquette, how to slurp her soup, how to hold her chopsticks. She tried different types of fish and most importantly, she watched the boys interact.

John was the instigator, Felix was the introvert and Phil was the buffering influence that kept the team working together. Phil had laugh lines around his eyes and a wicked smile, Felix had surprisingly graceful hands and Garrett's laugh was infectious.

Plus Blake and Coulson smelled really delicious. Two complimentary colognes, wedged knee to knee with two men.

Really, a surprisingly enjoyable meal and she was disappointed when dinner was over. The men escorted her out, but Blake stayed behind and helped her put her boots back on. Since John and Phil had already 'booted up' they were outside, waiting for them.

"So, I didn't put this on the questionnaire, but I'd like an answer. Why do you have this need to watch Phil and John dominate me?"

Her mouth dropped open. Felix's smile was brittle and his eyes were an icy blue.

"Do you really dislike me that much that you want to watch me have a panic attack? Seriously, what the fuck have I ever done to you?"


	12. Conversations

"So, I didn't put this on the questionnaire, but I'd like an answer. Why do you have this need to watch Phil and John dominate me?"

Her mouth dropped open. Felix's smile was brittle and his eyes were an icy blue.

"Do you really dislike me that much that you want to watch me have a panic attack? Seriously, what the fuck have I ever done to you?"

Jemma Simmons said nothing, but she stepped away from a rather annoyed Felix Blake. Her retreat surprised him, and _**he**_ stepped back.

"Why are you doing that? Do you think I'll hit you? I'm trying to figure out what I ever did to you was so bad that you'd enjoy witnessing me having a meltdown? It must have been pretty bad, whatever I did," Blake admitted. "What did I do? I don't think I've ever talked to you before this? I mean, there was that one project, but I rechecked my correspondence, and notes, and I never talked to you directly. So, it must have been something. I can't remember anything so I don't know what I did. I truly don't know what I did."

"You didn't do anything to me, I was being… mean," Jemma Simmons slowly admitted.

"Oh," Felix Blake rumbled. To Jemma's horror, he seemed to relax and his face softened into the slightest smile, or something less frightening than his usual grim face. "It wasn't something I had done then."

He hadn't been angry at her, he had been angry at himself, because he thought he had done something to deserve her comment.

"I'm sorry," Simmons insisted. "It was quite cruel of me."

"No need to apologize, I worried, needlessly it seems, that I had done something to you. Unintentionally. I was quite concerned." Then in a very soft tone, with a heaping amount of self-mockery, "I worry a lot about many things. You've probably noticed that."

"Please accept my apology," she requested. "I was being quite cross and spiteful. You've been nothing but quite polite to me. A perfect gentleman."

"You don't need to apologize. I have a very thick skin as I deal with significantly worse daily," Blake said. Then he leaned towards her, "Just don't make any jokes about Coulson. He tries to laugh when they make comments about him being one of the Living unDead, but it bothers him, ok? So please don't. He doesn't have the thick skin that I do. Now, let's see if we can get you on the back of Garrett's Harley."

Jemma Simmons realized anew how utterly damaged Felix Blake was, and she looked at her Harem with new eyes. John Garrett, wincing, when he thought no one was looking, his loud joviality aimed at keeping Blake calm and amused, or disgusted and calm, or just calm. Phil Coulson and his jokes about his Tahiti vacation and how he rubbed his chest and grimaced when the old wound twinged. How he kept Garrett just on the side of being cheeky and Blake a shade less abrasive.

And how they acted towards her. Felix never touched her skin, only her shirt (dancing) or if he was wearing gloves (to get off Garrett's hog). Garrett and Phil were more comfortable touching her, though Phil was a bit more restrained than Garrett's effusiveness.

Really, it was no surprise that Jemma Simmons was unable to enjoy the Japanese Film Fest because she was overwhelmed by the very real possibility of further hurting the three men. Garrett noticed her reticence and commented. Blake blamed it on the selection. "Really, _**The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum**_is a classic, but the heroine dies from TB. Why don't you take us to _**La bohème**_, next?" while Phil futively protested it was a classic film.

"Actually, Tuesday is Garrett, which is…" Phil prompted.

"Bowling." Garrett announced.

"Bowling," mouthed Blake and Coulson. "Bowling?"

"I haven't bowled before. It sounds interesting," Simmons offered.

"Phil will show you have to bowl. And for dinner…. Italian. I know a really good place. It's _**real**_ Italian."

"What's the information so I can update the invite?" Blake asked as he took out his smart phone.

"Make sure you invite Fitz and your new assistant. She was pretty annoyed that we took Simmons out tonight without her tagging along, and I had to listen to her for hours," Garrett explained. "She didn't come out and say it, but I think she was worried that we'd get Simmons drunk and take advantage of her. So Simmons, do you think you could handle a foursome?

Simmons hadn't even had a chance to formulate an answer when both Blake and Coulson elbowed Garrett hard.

"Can you behave?" Blake asked.

"Do I need to tazer you?" Phil added.

"So we need to invite Agent Skye, as she was quite irked," Garrett continued.

"She didn't say anything to me," Blake protested. "Phil, what is it with that look? Just come out and say it."

"She's _**terrified**_ of you," Phil explained. "Maybe you could smile once in a while."

"Like this?" Blake smiled brightly, added a wink for added enhancement and Garrett shivered.

"Please _**don't**_." Garrett said with great sincerity. "For the love of God, man. Don't ever do that again. I'll have nightmares!"

"You didn't like my Sitwell Smile?" a confused Blake asked. "Grinning and winking like a loon?"

"I felt this almost uncontrollable urge to run down the street, screaming like a little girl," Phil admitted.

"Considering he went mano y dios with Loki, that's saying so very, very much," inserted Garrett.

"Fuck you," Blake growled. Then he repeated it a few more times while Garrett laughed.

"I think I'm quite capable of handling the three of you at the same time," Jemma finally announced.

Silence fell as all three men turned to face her. Coulson's mouth was open as he was stunned, Garrett was openly grinning and Blake was blushing…. Blushing…..

"Do we take a number and wait to be called into your boudoir?" Garrett asked. This time, Coulson and Blake didn't even bother to pull their blows as Garrett exhaled loudly when their elbows hit him.

"At the very same time," she repeated. "I'm quite skilled at multi-tasking. I hope you can keep up with me, gentleman."

Coulson and Blake appeared close to swooning, and Garrett looked disappointed.

"I'll have to pass, as I think Mutt and Jeff just broke ribs," Garrett quipped while Phil and Felix said nothing.

Jemma Simmons returned back to her apartment and she wasn't surprised that Fitz and Skye were waiting for her.

"Details?" Skye asked.

"Forget that, snogging. Was there snogging? Who's the better kisser? Coulson," Fitz decided. "He's a gourmet. Reminds me of Alex, I had such a jolly time with him as he was experienced in the better things in life and wanted me to share in the experience."

"Please, Garrett," Skye protested as she voted for the most exuberant of the various bachelors.

"No vote for Blake?" Jemma asked.

Their jaws dropped.

"Mr. Grouchy Bear?" Skye asked.

"He's not a grouchy bear, he's just very reserved." Jemma felt the instinctive need to protect Felix Blake.

"With a very intimidating pair of eyebrows," quipped Fitz which Jemma chose to ignore.

"Can we have lunch tomorrow, Skye? We can talk about tonight then. I'm just tired," Jemma requested.

"Sure," she agreed and they reserved a time and place.

After Skye left, Fitz sat down next to her. "You, ok?"

She shook her head.

"I'm over my head with them. They're just so much older than I am, and they….. they're damaged, Fitz. All three of them are damaged in different ways, and … I don't know… why I was chosen. I mean, I had made a very not nice comment to Skye and Blake overheard it and instead of thinking oh, Jemma Elizabeth Simmons is stroppy cow, he thought he had done something…. And he had worked himself into an absolute state…. And…. Phil and John…. I…. I…. They're damaged…. And I'm scared that I'll break them."

Fitz grabbed her hands and squeezed them.

"You are a healer of souls, Simmons. You're peace and understanding, and joy and innocence all wrapped up in you. Do you think Skye, Agent of No Known Last Name, would be able to handle them?"

Simmons shook her head.

"I have absolute faith in you," Fitz assured her. "You saved me from myself, didn't you, love?"

"You give me far more credit than I deserve," Simmons protested.

"I disagree."


	13. Fire in the hole

"Jemma Simmons will kill the man lucky enough to marry her," Phil Coulson dryly predicted.

"But, oh, what an absolutely lovely way to go," cooed John Garrett.

"No, we'll be dead long before any of us have to pick out a tux, so Phil, I'm asking if you out survive me, you are to take care of Winston, please. Then find him a nice home with normal people with lots of kids," retorted Felix Blake who had just finishing lovingly grooming a very vain Winston. "John, do you think you can possibly stop _INSTIGATING_?"

"Who me?" John Garrett asked. For this attempt at humor, he was rewarded by Blake throwing the dog brush at him.

"Do you think you can handle a FOURSOME?" Phil and Felix pointedly reminded John Garrett. Then Felix continued, "Or do we take a ticket and stand in line like we're at the deli counter?"

"I'll be the one with performance anxiety in the corner," offered Phil.

"A foursome would be worse as you know she'd be looking at…." began Garrett.

"Our scars," Felix quickly stated. "She actually finished the questionnaire. I'll pull the data together and let you know what makes Dr. Simmons tick."

"Any chance she has a strange fetish for old men?" Garrett asked.

"With bionic parts? I'm afraid not. Though she got a little silly towards the end, she didn't realize that I put a keylogger on her questionnaire."

"Do tell," Phil requested.

"One question was since T-Rex are descended from birds, where they able to hop? Her original answer was T-Rexes were unable to hop due to their short little forearms, because if they fell over when they hopped they'd never get back up. And T-Rexes are horribly misunderstood dinos because all they needed was slightly larger forearms, because they were cranky because they couldn't hug,"

"So that's Felix's problem. He has short forearms," Garrett offered.

In response Felix Blake gestured repeatedly with his more than adequately sized forearms, with one such gesture would have guaranteed him lengthy jail time in Saudi Arabia.

"Group hug!" Garrett chirped as the two men embraced a protesting and squirming Felix Blake. Garrett, adding salt to the wound, decided to rub Blake's hair so it was every which way.

"God, I hate you guys!"

Garrett spiked Blake's unruly hair still further and decided a serenade was required. "I drunk myself blind…. to the sound…. of old T. Rex…."

"HATEYOU!"

"You know you love us," Phil protested. "Without us…"

"I'd have no one who'd put up with me," softly admitted Felix.

"Same here," admitted Phil.

"Ditto," Garrett agreed. "God, we're pathetic."

The three men sat down and stared at the wall. Finally one offered, "Breakfast tomorrow. Same spot?"

* * *

The three agents (and dog) met at the coffee shop the next morning. Felix handed out two large packets and then sat down in order to debrief the troops.

"Here's the intel," he announced as he reached for his coffee.

"What's your analysis?" Phil asked.

"You're the best agent to handle this delicate situation," was his simple response. "Not John, and certainly not me. Our objective requires a sensitivity and compassion that we lack."

The three men leaned towards each other as Blake explained. "One known boyfriend during time at the Academy. I investigated him, he was actually thrown out of SHIELD due to undisclosed reasons. Personnel file had been sealed but I spoke with Anne Weaver. She remembers him being trouble…. Actually her comment was that he was a real dickhead and had lots of problems with him as he was too busy screwing around."

"Anne said that?" Garrett asked.

"It sounded better with her accent, but yes. She was curious why I wanted to know, I told her a little bit and that I was concerned as I was a great deal older than Simmons. I also convinced her that I was worried as Simmons seemed skittish about dating, far beyond the entire I'm old enough to be her granddad. Weaver's abstract is on the page thirty five, pretty much he was an ass, broke her heart and destroyed Simmon's self-confidence so she hasn't dated since. Been too busy sciencing."

"You expect that I'll read all this?" Garrett asked. "Phil, read it and synthesize it for me."

Phil smiled his innocuous smile and Garrett swallowed once. "No need to threaten me, I'll read it."

"What about her comments, I mean, the foursome comment startled me," Phil asked.

"Simple. It's Garrett, she's probably scared to show the faintest bit of weakness," explained Blake. "So she's trying to match Garrett's bad behavior so we don't know how inexperienced she really is."

John Garrett put down his coffee and glared. "What do you mean by that?"

"Bull in a china shop, John," Phil explained. "You do come across a bit strong, though it is part of your charm. Game plan is we'll review Blake's assessment and discuss it tomorrow before the bowling alley. Bowling… **_Bowling_**… Really, do people still bowl? Besides us, I mean?"

"Bowling," Garrett repeated. "It's fun. And Phil will show her how to bowl."

"By the way, what did she originally put down for Phil is to _ as John is to _ and Felix is to _?" asked Phil.

"Larry, Curly and Moe," deadpanned Felix.

"The THREE STOOGES?" Phil repeated while Garrett roared.

"Actually it took her thirty minutes to answer that question, and she finally put down what type of car we drive."

* * *

That Monday morning, Jemma Simmons had planned on buying Felix a nice apology coffee. She had, but she overslept and…, so she didn't. Tuesday morning, there was an issue on the train, so she couldn't get there and to work on time so she had no contact with her Harem until Tuesday night when she met them at the bowling alley. To her surprise, the boys weren't wearing suits and fatigues. No, Felix was wearing a flame emblazoned bowling shirt, while Garrett had a motorcycle emblazoned on his (Yes and he was wearing the turtle neck) while Phil's bowling shirt was black with red strips with the corvette logo on the back.

"Is there a problem, Simmons?" Coulson asked.

"I've never seen you in clothes," she admitted which caused Coulson to blink. Rapidly. "I'm mean …. Out of your suit…."

Oh good God, she had done it again. She possessed the knack on how to embarrass herself in ten words or less.

"We rented the alleys at the end of the lane," quickly inserted John. "Why don't we get you a ball you can wrap your hand around?"

Felix Blake stared at the heavens and intoned, "It just gets worse, and worse. He doesn't even try to behave."

"You see, bowling balls range in size. Blake and Garrett both have sixteen pound balls, while I have a fifteen. You may want to try a twelve," Phil explained. "We also decided that it might be best if we split into three teams. Blake and Fitz will be on the one team with Garrett and Skye on the other."

"God help us all," stated the rightfully pessimistic Felix Blake.

"What's the problem, Boss? Don't you want to bowl with me?" Skye asked. She smiled brightly and her brilliant smile didn't fade, not one single watt, even though Felix Blake didn't smile.

"No, I have a strong desire to survive tonight," admitted Blake. "You'd probably hit me with the bowling ball. Accidentally."

"No, she'd do it deliberately!" Garrett chortled.

* * *

Phil explained to her and the rest of the newbies on how to pick the proper ball, not too heavy, not too light. That done, he requested John Garrett demonstrate the proper stance and how to throw the ball. John aligned his non-dominant foot with the center and then he gracefully threw the ball.

"Hooked," Blake announced as the ball was traveling down the lane.

"To the left," Garrett admitted as his ball did just that leaving him with a pin. "Now, I'm a stroker while Blake is a crank…er. Being a stroker, I have a sliding feet movement that will stop just before the ball gets to the line. Doing it this way, I use the momentum of my body so I can release the ball during the final slide. Now, if you're cranky… "

"Not laughing," snapped Blake.

"Crankers reach the foul line before the ball is released, and their elbows are bent so their hand is below and behind the ball prior to release. This style uses a moderate amount of body strength when throwing the bowling ball. So Blake is sheer brute strength, while I'm not. Felix, if you could please…"

Felix Blake demonstrated a perfect strike, pumped his fist in victory and then tapped Garrett on the chest. "Wager, big boy?"

"Ok, hot shot. The usual," Garrett decided.

"Ignore them," Phil instructed Jemma. He walked her to the foul line, gently reminded her how to throw the ball and then gave her a very crooked smile. "You can do this. It's really easy."

She smiled at him and he nodded his head.

"Don't worry – the worst thing you can do is throw it in the gutter. We'll give you some warm up throws."

Phil took the ball from her hand and instructed her to watch him. Phil had a relaxed stance and an easy throw, and the bowling ball sailed down the alley.

"Nothing to it. Now you try," he repeated.

Jemma Simmons nodded her head. It was only a bowling ball and really, the twelve pound ball dealt with biomechanics and physics and friction and velocity. Even center of gravity and momentum. Easy peasy! Piece of cake! She practiced her stance and then closed her eyes as she threw the ball.

When she knocked down all the pins, wouldn't the boys be so surprised?

"**_FIRE IN THE HOLE_**!" Garrett roared even while Skye shrieked. There was a sound of breaking glass and a loud thud. Well, several loud thuds as though a bowling ball was bouncing.

Behind her.

Jemma Simmons opened her eyes to realize that all the pins were still standing in front of her. The blasted things were mocking her so she looked to the right and to the left and all pins were still standing.

Oh no.

"SIMMONS!" Fitz sounded very upset. "WHAT the BLOODY HELL?"

She turned to face Fitz and realized that she had gotten a perfect strike after all. Not ten pins, no, not at all, but two level seven agents and a level eight were down.

A bloody, as in real blood, running down his face, bloody Garrett was on top of Blake and Coulson. Winston licked a still Blake's face even while Coulson groaned. Garrett gingerly rolled off the two men and apologized for taking immediate action, "I saw the ball coming toward you two and…."

Jemma Simmons realized that there were far, far, far worse things than throwing a gutter ball. For example, throwing a bowling ball at three senior agents was far worse.

"It's ok, I'm glad you saw it coming my way," Phil said. "I'm fine."

"Phil? Look at your left wrist," Garrett informed Phil. "Felix, come on, Felix. Say something."

"I think he hit the floor hard," Phil said. He looked at his deformed left wrist and sighed, "Shit, my wrist isn't supposed to look like that, is it?"

"No," Garrett helpfully offered.

"Least I can't feel it," Phil admitted, rather happily, as it did look broken. "Tactile anesthesia can be a good thing it seems."

Felix Blake muttered something and Garrett barked a laugh. "Can you say that a little louder?"

"She's not happy that she's gonna kill us. No, now she's actively trying to murder us," protested Blake. "She threw the goddamn bowling ball at us. She **_aimed_** it at us. **_Deliberately_**."

"I did not," a stunned Simmons protested even as she looked in horror at the carnage she had unleashed. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't do this deliberately."

"I think I broke my hip," Felix Blake whimpered. He was lying prone and he wasn't moving. "I think I broke my fucking hip again when Garrett tackled me. Oh sweet mother of God, not again."

"We'll call for an ambulance," the rather nervous bowling alley manager said. "Do you think we need two?"

"Phil and I can walk. Do you have a 4X4 as I'm bleeding?" Garrett asked. "Then I'll splint your wrist, Phil."

"Can I do anything?" Simmons pleaded as really this mess was completely her fault. "I can splint…"

"Oh, no way in hell are you touching my leg. You've done plenty," snapped Felix Blake. "Jemma Simmons, Warrior Princess, can go home now as I don't think we're going out for Italian."

"Maybe, Felix has a point. Why don't you three go home," Phil Coulson suggested. "I'll call you later. Promise."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean… I swear," Jemma Simmons pleaded. She placed her hands over her mouth and she shook her head in horrified disbelief.

"It was an accident, but let's find out what the damage is, and we'll talk. Promise," Phil Coulson assured her. "Can you get our bowling balls? Round them up and hold them for us?"

"Do you need a ride home from the hospital?" Simmons asked. "I can drive you home."

"Maybe, not such a good idea," Coulson admitted. "Felix is a little irked right now."

"What about Winston? You can't take him to the hospital, can you?" Simmons reminded Phil. "We can watch him for you."

She had to do something for them, especially as she had maimed them!

"No, no, no. Not getting my dog," an annoyed Felix protested. "Not getting near him, Xena!"

"We'll keep Winston, I think he can't leave Blake right now," Phil softly explained. His eyes were quite kind but he appeared on the verge of hysterical laughter. "Go home, I'll call. I promise."

"I really didn't deliberately throw it at you," Simmons insisted.

"We know that. Even Felix does, but he's worried about his leg. He had multiple surgeries on his pelvis and legs."


	14. Splint, Stitches and Surgery

"Can you move?" a very concerned John Garrett asked a cursing Felix. "It's probably a bad bruise as I hit you pretty hard."

Phil saw how the leg was rotated and he silently shook his head.

"No," Felix stated through clenched teeth. "It's out."

He was still lying prone on the floor and his eyes were closed.

"The ambulance should be here shortly," Phil promised.

"Not planning on going anywhere," Felix tersely quipped. "Unless you're planning on carrying me."

He exhaled and then inhaled slowly.

"Did Kali leave yet?" Felix asked. His voice was low and controlled and he was literally trembling from the pain.

"I'm still here," Simmons slowly admitted as Coulson and Garrett both turned to face her.

Felix turned his head to face her, then he opened his eyes and smiled. It was a wide, bright smile that was at odds with the fact that he was still on the floor. "I had a lovely evening, truly I did, and you can go now. You really, really can. You can take Mary Sue and Leo with you too, and while I had a truly memorable time, I think I'll pass on Thursday night."

"Mary Sue?" Jemma asked. When Skye gasped, Jemma realized who it was.

"I'm really disappointed about Thursday night. Truly I am … because Stavros' has a really good Flaming saganaki. You won't be able to set me on fire!" Blake struggled to laugh and then he closed his eyes.

Simmons looked at Fitz, who looked back at her.

"Now, can you please leave, before I start screaming?" Felix pleaded. "Please?"

* * *

"They'll be taken to the base to be checked out," Fitz informed Simmons as he pulled her away from the bowling ball bloodbath even as black clad EMS workers descended upon her victims. "We'll go there and wait for them."

"They don't want me there," Jemma protested. While they hadn't come out and said it, it seemed pretty obvious that she was NOT wanted.

"Jemma, they waited for you when you fainted," Fitz reminded her. "You should do the same."

There was an unholy shriek just then. Skye stopped dead in her tracks, so Simmons ran into her.

"Was that noise… Agent Blake?" a horrified Skye whispered.

Jemma nodded her head once.

"Oh my God," Skye stated.

Since the audience had left, Felix Blake felt free to curse. He cursed in Arabic, he said naughty things in Cantonese, he cast character aspersions in Russian on whomever had done a half assed job filling in the potholes in the road as the ambulance personnel hit every single one of them, but he didn't… didn't… didn't… say one bad word about Jemma Simmons.

By the time he rolled into the emergency department, the doctors were there, waiting for him with a big shot of pure sunshine and happiness and puppy dogs, lots and lots of puppy dogs. And rainbows and unicorns that shat rainbows out of their butts and…. All he needed to do was sign, sign, sign all sorts of consents because it was obvious he was heading toward the Operating Room. Once he signed forty seven forms and turned over all responsibility for himself over to Phil Coulson, they gave him the shot.

Then they gave him another shot of really good shit and he was so goddamn happy and feeling so damn relaxed that he could have kissed Jemma Simmons instead of being so damn anxious because she was beautiful and smart and nice and lovely… all the things that he wasn't….

A really good goddamn kiss where she would have realized that the old dog still had all his own teeth and had some bite left…

He had enough pride left to be damn grateful that she had gone home, where she was probably laughing at him. Plus, Felix Blake knew that both John and Phil were quasi interested in Simmons, and since they were both better men than him, it would be best if he just stepped… limped aside.

So no kisses for Felix Blake, anxious and abrasive asshole.

"The mouth on our boy," Garrett commented as he and Phil help move Blake from the gurney to a stretcher.

"Rather impressive, with a strong command of vocabulary and context," Phil remarked. Then he leaned over Felix's shoulder and laughed. "He's smiling."

"Really good shit," Felix mumbled. "Like when we had to do drugs in the nineties."

"Shhhh," teased Phil. "We're supposed to deny that we experimented with drugs as part of our training."

"Good idea," he slurred. "Gonna sleep now."

The orthopedic surgeon made his appearance, took a look at his patient and sighed.

"The minute I heard it was Felix, I called in the OR team. Was it his donorcycle?" the surgeon asked. "I told him to give up the bike, but he refused."

"No, it was far, far worse than his motorcycle," Phil calmly stated. "It was…. A pretty girl and a bowling ball."

Garrett and Coulson were deliberate in not staring at each other, but John's lip quivered. Phil Coulson thought serious thoughts but he knew that sooner or later, he'd start uncontrollably laughing. However for now, Felix needed someone to be an adult and handle everything.

"Garrett needs stitches, and you need an x-ray," the surgeon decided.

"What about Felix?" Garrett asked.

"X-rays, blood draw, ekg, then to the OR. We'll do it under general anesthesia," the surgeon explained.

"Lots of happy drugs, doc?" requested Garrett.

"By the time I'm done drugging him, you could drop Felix into a Celine Dion concert and he'd be singing along," promised the surgeon.

"Good man. Now, John, you get stitched up and I'll stay with Felix," Coulson offered. "You're dripping on the floor and I can move my fingers."

He waved his fingers at Garrett who shook his head.

"Notice you're not bending your wrist," Garrett offered.

"I am not leaving Felix alone," Phil promised.

"After you get fixed up, you go home and take Winston. I know how much you hate hospitals," John offered. "I'll stay until he wakes."

* * *

Twelve stitches (John) and one Wrist Splint w/ Fixed Thumb, Left, Large, for a grade two sprain, (Phil) later, they returned back to Felix's stretcher where the fallen agent was sleeping the deep sleep of the heavily drugged. Winston was sitting in a chair next to Felix's bedside and he was resting his head on his master's hand.

"He's so cute when he's drugged," Phil softly offered. "I think he's even smiling."

"We should take a picture and email it to Simmons," offered Garrett. "He doesn't look quite as threatening when he's drooling."

"He'd kill us," Coulson protested.

"Gimpy would Have to catch us first," was Garrett's proclamation before he took a picture. "Now, seriously, you can go. I'll stay with Sleeping Felix, you take Winston home with you. After your Tahiti experience, I know uncomfortable you are being in a hospital, especially when surgery's involved. Felix will understand, so go."

Garrett pushed (but gently) Phil towards the door and Winston regretfully trotted after Phil. He did turn and looked at his master, even while Phil put the dreaded leash on him.

"Are you walking me out to the parking lot?" Phil protested.

"Putting you into the car and slapping a tracking device on it. Plus they need to get Felix prepped for surgery and they might need to assistance. You and I might be recruited to undress him. Let's give him some privacy."

"You can be surprisingly sensitive at times," chastised Phil as they exited the Emergency Room.

"Fuck you, Phil," growled Garrett.

"That's my boy!"

Winston pulled on his leash and guided his chaperones toward a corner in the waiting room where Jemma Simmons, British Guardian Angel of Disastrous Dates along with her two Handmaidens of Terror, Mary Sue and Leopold, sat. The Giant Schnauzer, uncaring of his own safety, placed his head into her lap and sighed.

"Agent…. John…. Phil… Winston…." Simmons said, with a valiant attempt at being cheerful as she cataloged their collateral damage. "Where's Felix? Is he getting the car? It was just a bruise then?"

"They're prepping him for the Operating Room. They need to pop his hip back in under general anesthesia," Garrett gently explained.

"Oh my God," Simmons prayed. "I'm so sorry, it's my fault."

"There's nothing you can do here, so why don't you go home and get some sleep," Phil offered. "We'll let him know that you were here and that you asked about him. We need to take Winston home. Come on."

Winston regretfully left Jemma and followed the two men as they left.

"Oh my God," Jemma repeated. "I need to see Felix."

"Do you really think that's such a good idea? He's a bit cranky on his best days and… being prepped for surgery probably won't improve his mood," suggested Skye.

"You should see him," Fitz stated. Then he gave her a very suggestive look which translated into, "_Since you maimed him, you should snog him_."

In response, she gave him the "_SOD OFF, FITZ_" look in exchange.

"I don't know if I can get into the Emergency Room," Jemma protested.

"You need to," Fitz informed her. "You put him there!"

* * *

It was rather easy to visit Felix Blake. Simmons put on her big girl pants, walked up to the registrar and stated her desire to see Felix. She was permitted to visit him in Ward #5 so she gathered her nerves and entered the cube.

Anticipating that he'd snap at her, curse, scream and possibly throw a hopefully empty urinal at her, instead she was surprised to find him deeply sleep while a doctor performed a pre-op check list.

"Dr. Foster," the scrub clad doctor introduced himself. "I'll be popping Felix's hip back in."

"Jemma Simmons, I'm the one that crippled him," she nervously explained.

"With a Bowling ball?"

She nodded.

"Bowling balls can be very dangerous," Dr. Foster informed her.

"Especially when I throw them," she admitted.

"We're about to take him to surgery in a few minutes, do you want some time alone? He's very heavily drugged as he was in a great deal of pain."

"Please," she requested.

"Absolutely," as he left the ward, closing the curtain behind him.

In all honesty, she had no idea what to do next, so she leaned on the railing to look at Felix. He seemed younger…. Less defensive….when he was asleep and she hesitantly stroked his hand.

"I'm so sorry, I'm such a klutz," she admitted. "I'm just so sorry."

Then she leaned over and kissed him on his cheek. She stood up and turned to exit when she realized that a very somber John Garrett was intently watching her. Jemma inwardly braced for his biting sarcasm or a quirky quip.

Instead Garrett announced, "I'm sitting in the waiting room until he's out of surgery. Phil isn't good with hospitals, and I couldn't leave Felix by himself."

"I'd like to sit with you," she offered. "If you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't," he assured her.


	15. Kinsey and Pancakes

Jemma Simmons sat in the waiting room next to a very somber John Garrett. She shivered, due to the cold, and he gave her his heavy leather jacket. She wrapped herself into it and curled into her seat.

"Always keep these damn places frigid, I guess it prevents disease and pestilence," Garrett dryly announced.

Simmons struggled to smile but failed.

"Nobody blames you," Garrett sincerely offered. He reached for her hands and squeezed them.

"He must be furious with me," Jemma admitted. "Rightfully so as I threw the bowling ball."

"No, Blake won't be angry with you. It's a rather select club of people who anger Felix Blake. Blake will only get mad at Phil or me on the rarest occasion, normally I'm the guilty party because I'm an insensitive asshole, but his anger is usually focused inward."

"Why?" Jemma asked.

"Not my story to tell," Garrett informed her. "You're smart, I'm sure you'll figure out our Felix."

She pondered it for a bit, replayed her various meetings with Felix Blake, how he acted, how John and Phil treated him. The way he intently watched Phil and John, how he forced himself to mimic their behavior.

"He wants to be normal," she realized.

"He's a firm believer in tough love," Garrett slowly admitted. "He has a complete lack of compassion with regards to himself as he feels that he has to push himself into being the man he once was. Felix refuses to accept what the new normal is. He pushes himself, fails, which increases the pressure on himself the next time, so it's a positive feedback loop."

She stared at him, and John Garrett barked a laugh. "Yes, you're having a serious conversation with John Garrett. Go tell your friends and family, nobody would believe you."

"They won't," Jemma exclaimed. "I'm having severe difficulties and I'm sitting next to you, wearing your jacket."

John Garrett smiled.

* * *

Few hours later.

An exhausted Jemma Simmons had closed her eyes for just a brief moment, and woke up several hours later leaning on John Garrett. He had his arm resting behind her and he was surprisingly comfortable and cozy as a body pillow.

"Sorry about that. Did I miss much?" She groggily asked as she straightened herself into a sitting position. "Is he out of surgery?"

"No, he's still in. He should be out soon," her body pillow informed her. "While you were sleeping, I was thinking. You have a rather delicate wrist. You shouldn't be throwing a twelve pound ball. Maybe next time, you can use a five pound ball."

"There will be no next time for bowling, I think last night proved that Jemma Simmons' bowling is too dangerous for the Free World," inserted Phil Coulson who had arrived during this conversation. He juggled a coffee tray with assorted drinks on his splinted wrist, a bag and Winston's leash which he dropped once he told Winston to sit. Phil handed Garrett a coffee, offered Simmons her own cup and he rolled his eyes when she refused to take it. "It's not poisoned. It's just tea. A proper cup of tea. No tea bag, but properly strained tea leaves. One sugar cube. Just the way you like it."

She took it.

Winston sat next to Jemma and placed his head in her lap. She hesitantly scratched his head and he leaned towards her, offering unconditional doggie love.

"See… Winston doesn't blame you," offered Garrett. "However, Phil, what are you doing here?"

"Picked up a few things at his apartment. If he's in traction, he'll need something to wear," Phil offered even while Simmons mouthed, 'traction?'

"Dare I hope you brought the sarong?" Garrett asked. His smile was crooked and his eyes were quite amused.

"One S.H.I.E.L.D. sarong in the bag," Phil admitted while Simmons mouthed, 'SARONG?' "Grabbed a few Harry Bosch books and Sudoku puzzle books. Yes. Simmons, a sarong. I don't think he'll be wearing dress pants for a few weeks."

He then sat on the other side of Jemma Simmons and he leaned back into the chair.

"News?" Phil asked.

"Looked like a clean pop," Garrett stated. "Doc says, if he can pop it back in and there's no damage, probably traction for two weeks, no weight bearing for a few more weeks until he can walk with a cane. Doc has to scope it to confirm no bone fragments. I hit Felix pretty hard when I tackled him."

"Traction at home or here?" Phil asked.

"Don't know. Do you think we'll be able to get him into his apartment? I'm not carrying him up three flights of steps if he won't do the elevator," Garrett admitted. "However, we're in luck as I have off the next week or so."

"We'll figure what we'll do when we know what the story is." Phil admitted even as Winston turned and faced the door. "Door's opening."

* * *

Felix Blake was so fucking drugged that he was floating in the stratosphere.

"Shitttt, look at how glassy his eyes are," he heard someone exclaim. "How much good stuff did you give him?"

He waved his right hand vaguely in the direction of the voice to let them know that he had heard them. Then he realized that she was there… **_Her_**…. No doubt to finish him off. Hopefully, not with a bowling ball.

Wasn't very efficient way to off someone. After the bowling ball ran you over, you just lay there, like a bowling pin knocked over.

Buildings were better because if they fell on you, nobody would know.

Falling buildings were bad, however the absolute worst was buildings that had collapsed.

"Help," he mouthed as he couldn't do anything, not as drugged as he was, not as immobilized as he was. But he tried to scream so someone could hear him. There had to be someone out there, digging for him.

"He's trying to say something," the female said.

"Help," he repeated. His heart wildly raced along, about to bound out of his chest.

"Is he saying 'help'?'" a man asked.

"He's on some serious painkillers," said a third male voice. "He might be a little confused."

"Felix, it's Phil. Are you in pain?" the second voice asked.

"Help," he pleaded. "Help me, please."

"I think he's having a panic attack," said the first voice. In a softer tone, "Hey, Blakey. Phil and I are here. Plus Jemma's here and she promises to keep her bowling ball locked and loaded with the safety on. It's ok. You're safe."

Someone was rubbing his cheek, slowly and steadily, comfortingly, while someone reached for his wrist. He couldn't focus but the voice kept talking and talking and fucking talking. Garrett. It had to be Garrett as he never shut up. And the gentle stroking was Garrett because Phil wasn't capable of being that consistently gentle.

It wasn't that Phil didn't try, but…. It was difficult for him to judge how much pressure he was exerting.

"Garrett. Legs…. Can't move…" he protested.

"He's tacking along at 150 beats per minute."

"Felix, listen to me. You're coming out of the operation room. You hurt your leg so you can't move it. You're in the **_hospital_**. Doc's gonna give you some good stuff so heart doesn't pound out of your chest. Just close your eyes. Phil and I are here and we're wheeling you down to your room."

Felix nodded and gratefully drifted away. Naturally, they had to keep talking and sniping at each other as though he didn't need to rest.

"You had to mention the bowling ball, didn't you?" **_Phil_**. Phil Coulson. Thank God that Phil was there else he'd wake up toes emblazoned with hot pink toenail polish.

"Yes, he was worried."

Naturally, Phil wasn't having any of Garrett's shit.

"He was having a panic attack and you had to…. throw… the bowling ball comment in."

_Thanks a hell of a lot, Phil. _

THWACK, as Phil Coulson, Avenging Angel, Defender of the Downtrodden and Boweled Over, hit Garrett on the back of his head. It was an impressive sound and Felix was annoyed that he missed the mighty blow.

_Thanks Phil, I always liked you better._

**_"OW! Did you have to hit me so hard!"_**

"Your head is as empty as your soul, Garrett, so no harm done."

"Shut the fuck up, get a room already," Felix mumbled. "Let her watch as she's into that."

He was too loud as Simmons inhaled. Loudly.

"What did Sleeping Felix just say? It must have been really good as his filter is off and Simmons is blushing. Come on, sharing is caring."

"Felix is a very naughty boy, Garrett," she stated in a very posh British accent. "Is this his room?"

The stretcher turned a few corners and Phil mentioned something about a slider board. It was enough to doze while they did whatever. He was so drugged that he didn't even flinch when they slid him from stretcher to bed, though thankfully someone managed his legs.

"Simmons! No peeking!" Goddamn Garrett again.

"I am NOT peeking," she protested.

"No, more of a genitalia gawk, I'd say. Simply shocking for our… third or fourth date. What date is this? Jemma fainted on the first one. We did the starwatching, there was Sushi night and today was date number four. I think we need to have an ambulance on standby for our next Group Date Night."

"GARRETT!" Phil was not amused.

"Hate you ALL," mumbled Felix as he tried to cover his pelvis with a blanket or something. Really, hopefully Garrett was just being a jack ass and he had NOT displayed his nature endowment. Especially as he was quite vulnerable and unable to defend his virtue if Jemma Simmons was overcome by an insane desire to mount an old man who couldn't move to defend himself.

"Winston! Not on the bed. Not yet. Jemma? Could you leave, we need to get Felix positioned and presentable?"

* * *

"I brought the fan," Phil explained to John Garrett who was busy putting away Felix's various necessities. There were Sudoku puzzles, Harry Bosch books to read, dog biscuits for Winston and a cheap tablet that Felix used only for Angry Birds. (Or as John Garrett called it, Angry Felix) Plus the small fan which helped Felix sleep by providing white noise and a slight breeze.

After they had finished fussing and making him presentable, Felix thanked them both and told them to leave. Actually, he brusquely told them to get the #% out.

"Kiss first," Phil insisted. He leaned over and gave Felix a quick buzz on the cheek. "I'll come back later today. Call me if you need anything."

Garrett then kissed Blake also, and then rubbed Felix's face. "Already planning the 'Welcome Home Blake Gang Bang'," he informed Felix.

"I'll let you know when my orthopedic clears me," Blake quipped. "Put Winston in bed, won't you?"

John Garrett put Winston on the bed, and the dog decided to rest on his master's good side. Felix began stroking Winston and the dog loudly sighed.

"I'll stay for a while," John Garrett offered.

"That's awfully considerate considering you have nothing else to do as you were suspended again," Blake mumbled.

"I even have a special book that I put on my smart phone just to help Blake fall asleep," Garrett announced. "Close your eyes, Blake, and I'll read it to you."

Phil didn't bother to hide his amusement, and Blake just shook his head.

"I'd like to hear it," Phil announced.

John Garrett cleared his throat and began to speak in soft, soothing tones, "The cats nestle close to their kittens, The lambs have laid down with the sheep. You are cozy and warm in your hospital bed, my Felix. Please go the fuck to sleep."

Blake groaned as he was trapped, with no way of escape, and Phil knew it was time for his own exit. He said his goodbyes and met Jemma Simmons in the hallway.

"Should I say goodbye?" Jemma asked. "I have to return Garrett's jacket to him."

"You can pop in, but Garett's reading Blake a story. It's rather crude, so you may want to pop in and then disappear."

She exited faster than he had anticipated and her cheeks were quite rosy. "That is a rather crude bedtime story."

"That's our Johnny," quipped Phil. "Do you need a ride home?"

"I could call a cab," she suggested.

"I'll drive you," he insisted.

"Do you have Lola?" she asked.

"Yes."

* * *

Lola was a sweet ride and Phil was rather quiet while he drove Jemma home.

"I have a question," Jemma Simmons asked.

"Go ahead, shoot. With the question, not a gun, please," Phil quipped.

"Are you three all involved?" Jemma asked. "I saw you kiss Blake and John did also. Are all three of you gay? Because Fitz says you're not, but he can't explain the vibes he gets from you three. I thought you and John were hetero and Felix was probably asexual, but I saw how John stroked Blake's face when he coming out from anesthesia."

Phil slammed on the brakes and stopped the car in the middle of the intersection. Since it was three AM there was no traffic. Fortunately, else Lola would have been re-ended.

"I know a diner where we can chat," he finally offered. "I have to admit that I wasn't anticipating that question."

"Yes or no would be sufficient," Jemma announced.

"It's complicated, and I haven't eaten since lunch, which was fifteen hours ago? It'll be my treat," he offered.

She nodded and he made a U turn and three lefts.

* * *

"Hi Phil!" The red-haired waitress greeted him as he entered Drew's Diner. It was an old fashion diner, with a great deal of chrome, but it was clean and neat, Jemma noticed.

"Hello Candace," Phil answered. "This is Jemma, this is Candace."

"John or Felix showing up, or just you two?" The waitress asked. "I have biscuits for Winston."

"Just us, got a quiet booth?" Phil asked. "And I need a large cup of coffee, Jemma?"

"Tea would be lovely," she requested.

They sat in a very comfortable booth and after Jemma spent far too long deciding what she wanted, they placed their order. Candace then left them alone, and an exhausted Phil rubbed his tired eyes.

"This has been an incredibly long day," he finally admitted. "And this discussion might be highly embarrassing for both of us, but I'll do my best. The three of us are all solid twos on the Kinsey Scale. You're familiar with it, correct? So we're heterosexuals, predominately with occasional homosexuality, but since really our homosexual activity is limited to just the three of us, I'm not sure if we're just actually 1s. With me so far?"

She nodded her head.

"The three of us love women. I don't mean it in a bad way, but women are lovely creatures, regardless of size, coloring whatever. I enjoy having sex with women, and I know that John and Felix prefer having sex with women. I've had numerous flings with the fairer sex over the years, some serious, some not so much, but since I died and came back, nobody's wanted to dally with a Zombie. I also have that tactile anesthesia, so I can't feel when people touch me, and I can't feel anything when I touch them."

He took a long sip of coffee and placed the cup back on the table.

"I loved touching and kissing. I took a great deal of personal pride in ensuring my partners had orgasms before I did, because ladies first. Cuddling on Sundays mornings was a personal favorite, but … really, no one's very interested cuddling with a corpse. I'm fifty years old, Jemma. I can assure you that my sexual drive didn't stop when I came back. I still want to have sex…"

Phil Coulson stopped and sighed.

"I'm not about to throw you on the table and ravage you, Jemma. You look like a terrified Bambi."

"This is a very frank conversation," she admitted.

"It gets worse, are you ready?" He waited until she murmured her consent. "Both John and Felix are in the same exclusive club, being fifty years old plus and wanting to have sex but having a dearth of partners. Felix was in a long term relationship before New York. After New York, she just couldn't handle the profound changes in Felix so she walked out on him. He was in a really bad way and John and I took him to bed. These days, we don't do it every night, maybe a couple times a month, and we're usually a bit drunk when we do it. Any more questions?"

"Do you usually have threesomes?" Jemma asked.

"Normally it's just two of us. On the rare occasion, we do have a threesome. We rotate positions, so whoever is in the middle gets all the affection. However, we usually put Felix in the middle when he's in a bad way. Sadly, since we're all over fifty, if you're hoping for a porn video, it sure as hell ain't. Too many formerly broken body parts that don't bend like that anymore. Plus none of us are hung like that, though you did get quite the gander at Felix's pride and joy today."

"Did not," she protested.

He smirked. "Of course you didn't," he said in a very patronizing tone. "Because you're a good girl, and good girls don't stare when the draw sheet is accidentally moved. Of the three of us, he has probably the largest…"

"Oh good God!" she whimpered.

"Hands," he continued, as he was most assuredly smirking at her reaction. "I hear there's a correlation, supposedly?"

"When you…. Do you feel it?" Jemma softly asked.

"Yes, though I miss the fun of getting aroused by being touched. I was very tactile in my kinks, and they assure me it's all psychosomatic, that it will come back in time. I think they're full of shit," He admitted and then he smiled. "Here comes our pancakes."

Phil Coulson thanked Candace for her service and they began to eat. The pancakes smeared in fruit topping, syrup and butter were deliciously yummy, Jemma had to admit, so they ate in silence for a while.

"Next question?" he asked during a break in eating.

"How do I not cause problems with the three of you?" She asked.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I'm supposed to be dating you three and selecting one of you for the dubious honor of fathering my children," she reminded him.

"I know this seems very hard to believe, after meeting John Garrett, but we're all adults. There will be no issues if you chose John or Felix and not me. I can say the same for them. We discussed this prior to the first time we met you, and we know that this will be far more difficult for you than for us. We know that you'll have to date each one of us, and I'm sure that you're gonna kick our tires at least once."

She blushed and he reached for her hand to give it a comforting squeeze.

"I worry," she admitted. "I don't want to ruin your friendship."

Phil Coulson leaned towards her and smiled. "Jemma Simmons, that's Felix's role in this insanity. He's the worrier, John's the joker and I'm the balance. Now eat your pancakes before they get cold."


	16. Pancakes and Paramours

Jemma finished her simply delicious (And carb-filled) breakfast and Phil picked up the tab, even while she futilely protested at his largesse.

"Simmons… Jemma… you have to understand a few things about older men. Date night we pay because it's how we were taught to behave when we were younger. We don't expect sex, or anything else from you in repayment for picking up the tab. However, a thank you would not be amiss."

He smiled at her, and she was amused by his devilish dimples.

"You blush very easily, you know that?" Coulson remarked.

"Since I met you three I've noticed that," she snipped. "I seem to be in a state of perpetual embarrassment."

"That's because you're unfortunately a rarity, an innocent that has fallen in with a very debauched crowd. Could be an extraordinary learning experience."

That earned Phil Coulson an eye roll.

"Any more questions about the Three Musketeers?" Phil asked as he placed a generous tip out for Candace. "Especially about the fact that we're Kinsey 2s? I hope that it's not that surprising to you that while we're older, we still desire closeness and affection. You young women don't have the lock on that particular need, you know. It's just after you pick up a few physical and mental scars plus cybernetic parts, it's harder to find someone that's interested in closeness and affection. That can look past the fact that I have three gift subscriptions to "The Walking Dead" comic thanks to Jasper Sitwell. I don't even think about 'tru luv' anymore. I experienced it once and she died."

His tone was flat and he looked away for a moment to compose himself.

"Poor, poor Aramis," Jemma whispered.

His eyes lit up when he realized that he was talking to someone who knew the classics.

"You think I'm the musketeer who wants to be a priest?" Phil asked. "I guess you're right as John is most assuredly Porthos the extrovert, Felix is Athos as he's very reticent."

"You make it sound so easy, this odd relationship of yours. I'm sorry, I just don't understand how you make it work," Simmons questioned. "I mean…."

"No, it wasn't in the beginning. We wanted different things, and we weren't sure how the hell to give it, let alone receive it. It was like two virgins in the back of the Chevy, except there were three of us. I mean, John wanted sex, but what type? What way? Plus, he was deeply grieving for his team who he watched die. And Felix desired to end his solitude. To have a normal relationship where someone would **_willingly_** want to spend time with him. To have a beer after work or see a movie. Plus he wanted some frickle freckle with someone who could handle him and his issues," Phil added.

She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head.

"Oops, frickle frackle. I think I shall say it every time I see you just to watch you blush," Phil gently teased.

"I can say fuck," she announced. Well, she tried, as she stuttered on the word.

"Of course, you can," he teased before he turned serious. "Quite frankly, even to this day, this relationship of ours is not normal by any means. While I just wanted to touch someone and give them… pleasure. To prove to myself I was still human, because, really sex is a _quintessential_ act of humanity. Felix wanted to connect… and I thought I could …"

Simmons knew she was really blushing as she just imagined the two of them, in bed, together.

"I was a little rough with Felix at first, because I truly desired to give him what I thought he wanted. The severity of my seduction attempt was not intentional, and he didn't tell me until I noticed a bruise. It just a thumb print, it's not like I slapped him, but still, it was a bruise that I had given him. Felix knew it would bother me and that I hadn't done it deliberately. He didn't mention it because he feared I'd leave and he'd be stuck in his apartment, all alone. He was partially right, as I did leave because I had turned something that should be enjoyable and pleasant and nice… into something painful."

He grimaced, slightly, as he confessed, "It still disturbs me deeply."

"You came back," she offered.

"Garrett ripped me a new hole or three, and he not so gently reminded Felix that trust was needed on all ends of this relationship, so if I accidentally hurt him, he should inform me. In spite of Garrett's Garretness, he's really good with Felix. Sometimes, Felix really needs a good kick in the ass."

Simmons nodded her head.

"Has to be applied carefully, or else he'll shatter, but Garrett will kick him in the ass when it needs to be done. I prefer not to do it, but I have. Successfully."

Phil took a very long sip of his coffee and then sighed.

"Now also please understand that this odd little arrangement between us is **_known_**, but not **_public_**, if you know what I mean. I'd prefer to keep my personal life private, for no other reason. It's not because I'm ashamed to admit that I've frickle frackled Blake and Garrett. You can tell Fitz some of it, but I'd prefer if he didn't know what went down between me and Blake. Not too proud of that. And for the love of God, keep your mind out of the gutter, Simmons. Not everything I say should be taken as a double entendre."

"I wasn't in the gutter," she protested.

"You are such a horrible liar, Simmons," Coulson retorted. "I know what you were thinking just now."

They walked out to Lola and he opened the door for her. "Oh, by the way, as I know you're curious. Felix is incredibly systematic and exhaustive and Garrett is oral as hell."

Jemma Simmons stopped dead and Phil Coulson laughed. "And yes, that's payback for making me slam on my brakes in the middle of the intersection."

"I thought you were the nice one…." She gasped.

He shrugged his shoulders and displayed his simply adorable dimples as he smiled. Wickedly. "I am, Simmons. I most assuredly am."

"And what are you then?" she asked.

"I'm the recovering sensualist who desperately wishes he could touch your hair and feel its softness."

Jemma Simmons took his hand and placed it on her hair. His fingers tightened but gently around one of her curls.

"You can, as it's our fourth date," she reminded him.

"Fifth group date," he reminded her. "There was one where you swooned, the one with Winston, stargazing, sushi and now bowling night which had managed to surpass your swooning as quite possibly the worst date in the recorded history of the entire universe."

"And this is our first solo date," she reminded him.

He shook his head. "No, this is not our first solo date. Our first solo date is planned for several months hence."

"It's already **_planned_**?"

"Scheduled," he admitted. "I've already made reservations for a very nice restaurant."

His fingers were still in her hair, and he ever so gently pushed her hair away from her cheek. He then gently brushed his fingers against her cheek and then put this hands in his pockets.

"You have no idea how much I wish I could have felt that," he softly admitted. "No idea at all, Simmons."

"Is there anything else planned for our solo date?" she whispered.

"I will kiss you for the very first time. I hope you'll wear the Penhaligons English Fern again. It suits you. It took me a moment to recognize your perfume, but the gardenias and lavenders, dead giveaway," He dimpled again and then sighed as he looked at his watch. "Long, long night, and I have to be to work at seven."

"I won't recognize you tomorrow since you won't be wearing the Corvette bowling shirt."

"Christmas gift from Garrett," he explained. "I thought a suit and tie wouldn't work for bowling and I should actually wear it."

"What about Felix?" Simmons asked. "After all, I crippled him."

"Do you cook?" was Phil's surprising response. "Do you have something you make really well? Something that can be refrigerated? He'll be in traction for two weeks, after that, no weight bearing for two months or so, that means crutches. Make him a home cooked meal, he'll be happy."

"I can do that," she happily announced.

"And have dinner with him when you bring it over," Phil added.

Her face fell.

"Come now, you had a long interesting conversation over delicious pancakes with me regarding the sexual habits of three old men and it's obvious you can talk with Garrett. You also cuddled up with Garrett when you fell asleep, so… you need to learn how to talk with Felix. He doesn't bite, but he also isn't very gregarious."

"I could make two weeks' worth of meals instead," she offered which just proved how desperate she was, as she couldn't cook.

He frowned at her and shook his head and she sighed. "He'll be angry at me."

"He won't be angry at you, Jemma. He'll blame himself because you're obviously avoiding him. Visit him tomorrow, bring him coffee."

* * *

She returned to her flat to find Fitz waiting for her. She didn't say anything, instead she changed and went to bed. Fitz crawled into bed next to her.

"Spill," he ordered. "Felix?"

"Dislocated hip, Garrett stitches and Coulson has a badly sprained wrist."

"Love, you don't do anything by halfsies, do you?" His voice was quite soft and his Scottish burr thick, which made her eyes well up.

She shook her head.

"I'm glad you went to the hospital to see how he made out. He waited for you when you did a face plant. Then what else did you do? Did you really spend six hours in the hospital? You didn't spend six hours in the hospital for me when I got electrocuted," protested Fitz.

"I did too! However, I fell asleep on Garrett and Phil took me out for pancakes so we could chat," Jemma admitted.

"What did you chat about? Can you tell me?" Fitz asked.

"If I tell you, promise you won't say anything," Jemma requested.

"Promise," he assured her.

"The boys seem to have a long standing relationship of being friends with benefits," she explained.

"You've been hanging out with Skye too much, I don't understand you," Fitz protested. "Unless you're saying that they…"

She nodded. Fitz pondered it for a bit

"Interesting. Could explain why Blake is comfortable with them, relaxed enough to tease them," Fitz said. "They're together, but not really together. So what else?"

"I'm making him rare roast beef and Yorkshire pudding," she whispered.

"Simmons! You can't cook!" protested a laughing Fitz. "Bad enough you dislocated his hip, but are you trying to murder him? Death by cooking, Simmons?"

"That's why you'll help me," Simmons informed him as Fitz could cook.

"Scottish cooking is not the same as English cooking," protested Fitz.

Simmons groaned, "He's an American, so throw in a bitter or three and he'll never know."

"Dear God, I don't want to get involved with your Simmons Shenanigans. However, for the safety of poor Agent Blake, I must." Fitz laughed and the two besties embraced. "You doing ok with all this?"

"No," she admitted.

"Have a lie in tomorrow. Take half a day and come in after lunch," he suggested.

"I'll have to do the walk of shame," she protested.

"No, saunter on in. Be proud of the fact that you put a man in traction and put two men in the casualty ward. You're the British Black Widow…." Fitz then giggled. "Ok, you're just Jemma the awkwardly adorable who took out three senior agents with her kamikaze bowling skills. Seriously, what the hell happened?"

"I lost control of the ball. I didn't mean to do it! Oh, Fitz, I don't know what I'd do without you," she admitted.

"You'd do fine, I, on the other hand, would be utterly lost in a lonely pit of darkness and despair." Fitz's jovial tone disappeared and Jemma embraced him again.

* * *

When she arrived at her lab, she noticed that everyone was staring, from senior agents on down to secretaries. She held her head up high, walked slowly as though she was in control and not afraid or embarrassed that she had taken out three senior level agents. With a bowling ball. NO, she was goddamn proud of the fact.

Let the rumors fly as people would treat her with respect and a little trepidation.

Her composure went to shite when she entered her lab to discover three stuffed bowling pins. Each pin had little faces on them, and someone(s) had taken a great deal of time to scribble in hairlines and war injuries. There was a spray of blooms (gardenias and lavender) and a card.

"They were here when I arrived, " Fitz informed her before he pointed at a bowling pin that had graying, spiky hair, a rather stern look on its face and a pair of wooden crutches plus a small stuffed dog. "I guess that one is Felix."

"The scowly face is a dead giveaway," she retorted. "Plus the tie."

She nervously opened the card, and then read it all the while wearing a horrified look on her face. She put down the card and she sank into a chair as her legs decided not to support her. Ignoring Fitz's concerned questioning, she promptly placed her face on the lab table.

"Bugger," she protested. "Bugger, bugger, bugger. Oh my good GOD!"

"What?" Fitz asked.

"Read the card," she whispered.

"Dearest Dr. Simmons, She of the brilliant brain and the exceptionally horrendous aim," he enunciated. "What can we do but admit that you bowled us pinheads over? The date is still on for Thursday night at seven at Blake's apartment. Your adoring corps of walking wounded and tractioned paramours."

Fitz laughed after he finished reading it out loud.

"Simmons, you are certainly involved with three rather remarkable men."


	17. It's All Greek to Simmons

"You know Blake, this looks like a very strange sexual gadget," offered John Garrett as he stared at a supine Felix Blake who was locked into a traction device.

"I'll let you borrow when I'm done with it. I'll even throw in a gag," snapped Blake as he struggled to make himself comfortable.

"Hurts, I take it," Garrett offered. "Should have stayed in the hospital where all the pretty candy strippers…"

"Stripers," dryly inserted Phil.

"Would be lined up to give you a sponge bath. Plus they would have given you the really good drugs. It would have been like you were a rock star, Blake."

"Wanted my own bed," Felix explained. "My pillows. They wouldn't have let Winston stay with me."

John Garrett sat in a chair that was next to the bed. "I just think you would have gotten much better care if you had stayed in the hospital. You wouldn't be in such pain, ok? You'd be hooked up to a morphine pump and you'd be a happy camper."

"Didn't know you cared," Blake growled.

"I wish I knew how to quit you," John dryly admitted even while he drew up a hypodermic needle. "Now, smile, sunshine."

He jabbed Felix with the hypodermic needle with a practiced ease and he instructed Blake to count back from fifty. His patient made it to thirty something before he was out cold. Winston sighed and put his head on his master's chest. Sometimes, Winston had to regretfully admit that his owner was exhausting.

"Next time, don't agree when Felix wants to come home," Garrett chastised Phil. "You're supposed to be the sane one, the responsible one in this triumvirate of idiots."

"Blake doesn't handle hospitals well, you know that," Coulson protested.

"I know," Garrett agreed. "Now, since our Femme Fatale is coming over tonight, we need to sweep the apartment. "

"Felix's apartment is clean enough for surgery," Phil protested.

"Book sweep," Garrett stated as he picked up _Stop Obsessing! How to Overcome Your Obsessions and Compulsions._

Phil nodded his understanding and placed _The OCD Workbook: Your Guide to Breaking Free from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder _anda dogged ear paperback with a broken spine, _A Workbook for Overcoming Social Anxiety (Why is it so God Damn Hard for Me to Have a Conversation?)._

"Phil, I think our boy Felix is a tad smitten with Simmons," Garrett softly offered. "He gets really anxious around her."

"Can't blame him," Phil admitted. "She did throw a bowling ball at him."

"Knocked him off his feet," Garrett quipped.

"No, that was you," Phil snapped.

* * *

John Garrett was a smart ass, sassy, sarcastic SOB. He was also too damn protective of his new team, even though technically they weren't his team because Felix and Phil weren't field agents, not anymore. Plus. John Garrett didn't do teams anymore, not after he watched Mickey and Max… He shut down that fault… but he knew as the senior agent, he had failed to protect the kids, so he'd endeavor even harder to keep Phil and Felix safe.

And keeping Felix safe meant that he'd have to keep Felix's social anxiety manageable, especially if Felix was interested in Simmons. That meant he located all of Felix's various books on OCD and threw them into his (Garrett's) bedroom because Felix would be horrified… **_horrified_** if Simmons saw his personal accumulation of self-help book. One might say (God forgive him) that Felix Blake was obsessed with self-help books on OCD, as though one might be the magical panacea that would cure him.

Phil was sitting on Garrett's bed, and reading a ragged, broken spine book with a rather disgusted look on his face. "Nicolette gave this to Felix. He read it and read it, as you can tell by the condition."

"Ah, dear sweet Nicolette," Garrett growled. "Sorry, Felix, it's been fun for these last few years, but you're too crazy for me to deal with, so sucks to be you as I'm leaving. What's the title?"

"_How to Let Go of an Unhealthy Relationship_; _When Letting Go is the Best for the Other Person,_" Phil explained.

"I never liked her," was all Garrett said, though his voice was quite tight. "Winston didn't either as he shredded her shoes repeatedly. What's the game plan for tonight?"

"Greek and I'm thinking either movies or a board game. Something that won't be too strenuous for Felix, but won't be too horrifying for Simmons."

"I guess that means no _Cards against Humanity_ or _Loaded Questions_."

Phil, survival of a man verses crazed alien with Daddy issues attack, trembled in fear.

"Can you imagine Jemma Simmons with those games?" He protested.

"I don't have any desire to watch Disney," protested John Garrett.

"John, she knows about us," Phil stated as he leaned back into Garrett's bed so he was sitting against the headboard and his legs were stretched out on the bed. There was a tenseness and wariness in how Phil sat, as though he was anticipating John Garrett's intense displeasure.

A sighing Garrett sat on the bed next to Phil and he placed his arm around the other man's shoulders. He brushed his fingers against Coulson's cheek once. While Garrett knew that Coulson couldn't feel his touch, Coulson could _see, _and know that affection had been given and not withheld. He felt a tense Coulson relax.

"Why'd you tell her?" Garrett asked.

"She asked me, as we do have a very odd relationship. She picked up on the odd vibes and the fact that I gave Felix a kiss on the cheek when I left his hospital room. She also noticed that you buzzed him."

"How heavily should Felix be medicated when we informed him?" John asked, stressing the _we_. "How did she respond?"

"I believe that she found the idea of three old men…" Phil began but he stopped as Garrett cursed.

"Horrifying?"

"Understandable," Phil slowly admitted. "We had a long conversation about it, and she was able to wrap her mind around why the three of us have this odd little arrangement."

"She is a great deal smarter than the three of us," Garrett offered.

"I fear that she wants dinner and a show," Phil admitted while an embarrassed Garrett coughed. "You and I doing all the work while Felix relaxes and enjoys if you know what I mean."

Garrett, surprisingly enough, blushed and whistled in disbelief.

"She did take a long look at Felix's fidelis after all. Did everything but whip out a tape measure and lick her lips in eager anticipation while a terrified Felix was immotile and screaming for help," Garrett stated when the power of speech returned to him. "She's not as innocent as she appears."

"She is," disagreed Phil. "She most assuredly is as inexperienced as we feared."

"Then why is she so …."

"She seems to instinctively trust us, and part of her really wants to enjoy the experience," Phil decided after a long consideration. "Part of her is terrified, so that explains all the mixed signals. I feel like I'm on a roller coaster with her."

"Why though?" Garrett asked. "Why does she trust us? She **_fainted_** when she first met us. Twice."

"Her ID wants the experience, craves it, as her Super Ego has severely repressed that part of herself after whatever happened at the Academy. Her Super Ego is screaming, fuck no, they're old! But her Ego is noticing how we treat each other, that this arrangement is not based on just sex."

"It's a damn good part of it," Garrett inserted.

"You're an ass, Garrett. Sex is part of it, but mainly, we're a bunch of really damaged, lonely old men."

"So, tonight it's Greek food and Shoots and Ladders? Candy Land?" Garrett asked.

"I was thinking WordWile actually. I don't think she will be familiar with the rules so that's the only way we might be able to beat that brain of hers," Phil decided. "Felix has the set right?"

"Yes. I'll get it set up. Felix loves WordWile as he sees patterns and arrays."

"I know," Phil admitted. "I hope WordWile will help him focus on the game, not on how anxious Simmons makes him."

* * *

"You're visiting someone you maimed, Simmons. You should bring a trifle. I made these for you to bring," Fitz reminded her as he presented her with box that held a large cellophane wrapped Tipsy Laird and smaller one. "I also went to the bookstore and picked up several books that he might like to read."

She clutched the box in her hands and Fitz sighed.

"Don't drop it," Fitz chastised with his unique mixture of true fondness and Scottish exasperation. "You remember what's in it?"

"Custard," she whispered.

"Sponge cake," he reminded her.

A terrified Simmons nodded.

"Why are there two of them?" he prompted.

"Liquor," Skye finally answered when Jemma said nothing. While Skye had been informed that in her dual positions of Felix's Bane of his Corporal Existence (aka Assistant) and Jemma Simmons' Social Coordinator that she wasn't invited to Felix's apartment, she had still decided to support Simmons in her first date Post Maiming Felix Blake. (And play video games with Fitz, as between his tech skills and her hacking, they were kicking ass and taking names in Call of Duty.)

"Which one has the liquor?" Skye asked.

Simmons looked Skye as she knew that she'd get nothing but tough love from Fitz and she whispered, "Help."

"The smaller one doesn't have liquor just in case Blake shouldn't have alcohol due to his medication." Skye helpfully reminded Simmons.

"No, no, no. You crippled them, you get to deal with them, not Skye," Fitz protested. "Skye, can you give us a minute?"

A disappointed Skye went into the living room, leaving the two scientists alone. However, in her role of Social Coordinator, she felt that it was very important to eavesdrop.

"Do you have your pills?" Fitz asked. "I know you don't." Then he held out the bottle and put it into her purse.

"FITZ!" Wailed Simmons.

"You need to have them with you," he reminded her. "You're dating now, and dating usually means sex, Simmons. You've all been tested, and since you're all clean, and they're monogamous, they probably won't bother with rubbers. Safely first, but it's like wearing a rain coat."

"FIIIITTTTTTZZZZZZ," Simmons shrieked.

"I doubt it's happening tonight, Simmons. You maimed them, and they've been stitched, splinted and tractioned. That usually doesn't bode well for sex, Simmons, but just in case, it's always best to be prepared. Maybe I should give you some rubbers just to be safe. You mentioned that Blake was pretty…"

"We are not having this conversation," Simmons firmly announced. "We are not having this conversation."

"So maybe I should give you the ribbed ones," Fitz continued even while Simmons blushed. "Studded, dotted… or maybe the pleasure plus ones, as that way it's really good for both of you. Do you have any lube? You'll probably be nervous and …."

"Not having this conversation," wailed Simmons to the uncaring universe, who due to a fit of pique over Simmons' maiming of several top agents, was not listening to her pleas for assistance. In fact, the universe, being partial to older, balding SHIELD Agents, was relishing her discomfort, and was cackling in delighted glee.

"We are, and Skye is listening. SKYE! Can you be less obvious please?" Fitz stated, his Scottish burr quite thick.

There was a knock on the door and Simmons nearly dropped her trifles.

"Must be Coulson!" Fitz cheerfully announced. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Relax, have fun. They're probably more scared of you than you are of them."

"We are," admitted Coulson, who had been let into the apartment by the traitor, Skye. "We're absolutely terrified of her and worry how she'll top Tuesday night. Let me get that for you."

He took the box from her limp hands and he winked at Fitz.

"Promise to have her back by 11 at the latest," Coulson assured Fitz.

"What are your plans for her?" Fitz asked, sounding suspiciously paternal.

"Mainly, we're visiting Felix so he doesn't get too stir crazy. We need to pick up dinner and we'll play a board game or three. WordWile, it's like Scrabble on steroids. "

"Call me if you're spending the night," Fitz requested even while Simmons wished she could sink into the floor and die. DIE. DIE.

"She won't, Dad," Coulson guaranteed.

"You make sure of that," Fitz insisted, as he put his hands on his hips.

* * *

They stopped for a previously ordered take away and before long (far too quickly for Jemma) they were at the boy's apartment building.

"We're just visiting Felix," Phil gently chastised her. "Not being lead to your execution."

"Promise?" She requested.

"Promise," he said, as he put his key into the door. He stopped before he opened the door and looked at her. His kind eyes were quite concerned but there was an amused twinkle that made her nervous as he was quite amused. "You do realize that you'll be in Felix' bedroom with three men and a dog right?"

She nodded once.

"Try to keep your mind out of the gutter," he requested. At her completely gobsmacked expression, he winked. "Imagine the bed for sleeping. That's it, ok?"

Bastard!

"We're here," he called as he entered the apartment.

"Down the hall," called Garrett.

Coulson entered the apartment and realized that Simmons wasn't following him.

"He's not angry at you, I promise," he softly stated. "However, I'm disappointed that you didn't reach out to him. No visit in the hospital, no attempt at a phone call, no email. It would have been nice. I think he would have liked to have heard from you. It's not like Felix has a great many friends. However, Fitz and Skye both dropped him a note. They said that you were mortified over what happened and nervous about talking to him."

"How do you know that they said that?" Jemma asked.

"Felix asked if you had any reaction to the stuffed Bowling Pins. None of us heard from you regarding them," Phil informed her. "We thought you'd get a laugh at least."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to locate three, three feet tall stuffed bowling pins?" Garrett asked as he took several of the carry out bags from Phil.

"How's Felix?" Phil asked.

"Doc called. Radiologist did another reading on his xray. Might have chipped the hip so he's really upset. Plus, he's already stir crazy as he was forced to watch daytime TV today. That Dr. Phil guy is ... fucking crazy and the people he had on his show? I felt my IQ dropping as I watched it. But I couldn't change the channel as it was like liquid crack."

"I brought some books," Simmons finally offered. "Fitz suggested them."


	18. Saganaki and Simmons

"But I sent a card to apologize," Simmons protested. "I sent one to both of you also."

A stunned Phil Coulson stopped dead in his tracks as Simmons timidly offered, "I spent a lot of time trying to find the right one."

It was the truth, plus there had been a rather thin selection of card shops open at seven in the morning and none, NONE of them, had cards suitable for Maiming and Scarring by Bowling Ball.

"That's nice, Jemma, we'll blame the delay on the post office," John Garrett announced as he offered Simmons his arm. "But you didn't have to do that. Accidents happen and we understand that, **_right_**, Phil?"

Phil nodded and apologized even while Jemma brushed it off. His justified criticism wasn't quite in the same league as bowling down three senior agents after all.

* * *

Felix Blake stared at the ceiling and wished that he was unconscious because the thought of ouzo, flaming saganaki and Simmons (in the same room) while he was traction (in the SAME ROOM) terrified him. (Did he mention yet, a blazing Greek cheese and Simmons and him in traction in the same room yet?) As it would any other sane man (Coulson), while only a crazed fool would find it fun (Garrett) and decide that it would be a wonderful idea to invite Simmons (The Fiery Femme Fatale) into his bedroom. Winston, his faithful service dog, he of the shaggy beard and intense eyebrows, decided that an emotionally terrified Blake needed cheering, so Winston licked his face. After Winston licked Felix's face clean to his fastidious standards, he turned this face, rummaged for a bit and then dropped his leash on Felix' chest.

"No walkies," Felix informed his dog. "No runs, no ride in the jeep, Winston. Not for a while."

He was able to move slightly thanks to the trapeze, so he struggled to prop himself into a suitable position and he made damn sure he was covered. Especially **_there_** because he had no desire to flash Simmons as he vaguely remembered flashes of flashing her, which both Coulson and Garrett assured him that it didn't happen, which meant it had and how long had he been hanging out in the breeze?

"Protect me," he instructed Winston, who decided to ignore him as there were no walkies in Winston's immediate future.

Great, Winston was irked and Simmons knew about the truth about the three of them. The real fucking truth about them fucking and their little pantomime had worked so well for so long at the office. Coulson and he rolled their eyes at each other, held terse conversations and it was widely understood that they only tolerated each other because of John Garrett. After all, Coulson was Fury's Special Snowflake, Blake was a fucking desk jockey who barely functioned outside the office and scraped through the biannual psych reviews because the reviewers all felt sorry for him as he only had his job and Winston.

It didn't matter to him if everyone knew about him because everyone treated him like a fucking joke, but Sitwell and Ward would take it to a new, previously-unknown-to-Dante level in hell … Garrett wouldn't care, he'd eat it up, and make exasperating, grandiose passes at Sitwell and Ward until they stopped but poor, generally all around decent Coulson. Sitwell and Jasper… shit, shit, shit.

Not Phil, not the man who had calmed him down when he had unraveled after he had come home from work to discover Nicolette had left and taken just about every goddamn thing except for his Indian motorcycle and his Fender and his Gibson guitars. He had done everything Nicolette had wanted, had demanded and had requested of him and the bitch had still left on the very day that he had hesitantly asked over breakfast if they could have sex for the first time since New York.

She had smiled and squeezed his hand, which he had thought had meant yes, but instead it had been **_fuck off, loser_**. He had shaved at his office before he left for his long desired assignation as it had been a long period of celibacy due to his extensive rehabilitation from having a building collapse on top of him and he wanted everything to go perfectly, (Nicolette claimed his five o'clock shadow gave her a burn), ignored Claire's cattiness (and yes, his shrink had been correct, Claire equaled Nicolette because they both belittled him and used him because he let them because he didn't want to be alone and he'd do anything not to face the specter of being alone and he had kept them around him as he felt he didn't deserve better and they hadn't discussed Skye yet beyond his shrink saying 'Oh My Good God , what the hell where they thinking?' when he had heard who his new assistant was), had bought flowers and a fucking bottle of champagne that Coulson had recommended (As Blake was only the connoisseur of coffee) then had a near fucking breakdown when he came home to realize she had left, gifting him with only a pristine copy of _How to Let Go of an Unhealthy Relationship; When Letting Go is the Best for the Other Person _with a scribbled_ "It's for the best, Felix. I can't handle your issues as you really need help," _leaving him knowing that he had only tried harder, forced himself to solder together the fragmented pieces, she would have stayed.

And the bitch had taken his coffee machine. The really expensive one that Nick Fury had given him for unraveling the issue in Bosnia that saved all those agents' lives as an 'atta boy', a glorious machine that made really excellent coffee brewed at the perfect temperature.

Liquid nirvana.

At that point in Felix's rambling monologue, his therapist had informed him that Nicolette was a vindictive bitch that he was better off without because Nicolette only drank green tea and she hadn't needed the machine but had only done it to kick a man in the 'nads when he was down, and that if Winston hadn't been completely devoted and bonded to Felix, she probably would have tried to take his dog also.

Sometimes he wasn't sure if having a retired Howling Commando as his therapist was such a brilliant idea, but not then.

His thoughts raced, raced, raced in his head and he was trapped in bed, because they had tractioned him to stop the hip muscle spasms which had caused him to scream and weep like a little girl who had lost her dolly.

He needed pharmaceutical comfort, so Felix regretfully took the bottle out of his drawer and he opened it. He never ever took this stuff but Foster and his therapist had both agreed that he could take one…. One… pill twice a day, if he couldn't handle being bedbound.

Felix Blake couldn't handle it, not one minute longer.

He took the pill and relaxed into his bed, and hoped that his mind would stop racing.

* * *

"I have to confess that I think Winston does look a great deal like Felix, especially when they're both looking shaggy. The eyebrows and the beard, plus they both give me the stink eyes," John Garrett announced as they entered Felix's bedroom. "Watch this."

How utterly unhelpful, Simmons thought as she feared that she'd cackle in nervousness.

"Hey Blake!" Garrett called.

"Hey," was the rather unexpected result from a glassy eyed Felix Blake. He tilted his head and waved one hand in their general direction.

"Felix?" a concerned Coulson questioned.

"A little anxious about Bowling Betty here," he slurred. "They said I could take one if I needed and… shit this stuff is unreal. It's great though, my thoughts have stopped. I like not thinking. Wish I could do it more. Turn the thoughts off."

He snapped his fingers, or attempted to do so, and then he sunk back into his bed.

"So glad I'm not driving tonight," he admitted.

"I have a great idea, Phil and I will set up dinner and bring it in. You two chat," Garrett offered as he physically manhandled Phil out of the room.

Simmons looked longingly after the two men who had escaped and Felix sighed. Loudly.

"You don't have to be obviously terrified of me," he requested.

"I'm not," she insisted.

He tilted his head at her and smirked. "Liar…" he rumbled.

"I'm not lying, I'm trying to be polite!" Simmons protested.

"You are scared. More so of me, than the others. Garrett not so much, because you think he's funny. Phil, yes, definite terror there, but it's lessening probably due to your long conversation over pancakes at the diner. However, the monster that wakes Jemma Simmons up in the middle of the night, that caused her to clutch her teddy bear, is me. Your anxiety is coming through loud and clear to me, which makes me anxiousier… is that even a word? Anxiouser and uncomfortable about talking to you, which you pick up, and then exhibit back to me which in turn… gets me even more apprehensive. You've seen my social anxiety up close and personal. I actually practice conversations with imaginary people so if I ever speak to someone… I can make use of my practiced Blake banter. Hey, did you see the game last night? Are you a Scorpio? Never works, as I'm too busy cataloging, do they make eye contact? Do they look interested? Are they anxious about dealing with me? How do they stand when I talk to them? I can't turn the analysis off, and I can never have an easy conversation because I see… I comprehend…. that nobody wants to talk to me."

Felix Blake paused for a brief time before he spoke. "Except for Phil and John. Right now, you don't want to talk to me. You'd prefer if John or Phil were in the room as you desire a buffer when you are with me. You worry about dealing with me and my craziness and I can sense it."

He waited, she said nothing, so he continued, "Let's hash this out when I'm so bloody stoned that I'll have rambling conversations with absolutely no filter. This stuff is so good I could probably even talk with Nikki and tell her off."

"Nikki?" Simmons asked.

"Nicolette. She's in Accounting. Once upon a time, a long, long, long time ago, Phil had Audrey. I had Nicolette and John had his mouth but it was ok, because John loves to talk. He's his biggest fan."

"Audrey?" Simmons asked.

"Played the cello until the nuclear fallout occurred. Met her a few times, nice girl. Phil was head over heels for her. Not my story to tell, so I won't." He grimaced then and slowly inhaled and exhaled for a bit before he sighed.

"Your hip?" Simmons asked. "Should I call your doctor?"

"No, it's a spasm. They don't think I tore the labrum, but the muscles spasm now and then."

"I sent a card," Simmons explained. "I **_did_**."

"I wished you had dropped me an email, or left a voice message. I worried, **_naturally_**, when I didn't hear from you after the Bowling Ball Blitzkrieg." Self-mocking smile and Blake added, "You **_know_** how I am**_."_**

"I feared you'd be angry with me…" she began, but she stopped once she realized that Felix Blake had placed the back of his fingers against her cheek. It was a profoundly intimate moment between her and the reticent Felix.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and affectionate, "I'd never be angry with you. When I first saw you at that Meet n' Greet n' Faint, the countless thoughts that fill my mind, that race and chase in my mental maelstrom were stilled. I **_thought_**… no… I **_knew_** you were beautiful, and I felt normal. For the first time in too long, I **_felt_**… normal. And I hoped that you would smile at me, and we'd talk. You would talk and I would listen. And if God herself had mercy on me, I'd be able to talk back, and all the hours of practicing that I had done would finally be worth it. But you were terrified and… I wanted nothing more than to reassure you that you could trust the three of us. Unfortunately, I quickly realized that I alarmed you the most and the psychological vortex came back, louder than ever, yelling and screaming about how Nicolette had walked out on me, and we had been together for years, so why would you…simply marvelous you… give me a second glance?"

Her eyes were brimming with tears, she knew it and Felix Blake removed his hand from her face.

"No tears because of me and my sad little story of woe," he requested.

"I'll do what I want, Agent Blake, and you can't say anything about it," she retorted and then she whispered, "That was a joke."

"Helps when you tell me that," he quipped.

They sat in silence for a bit and then Jemma asked, "Will you tell me more about Nicolette?"

Blake shook his head and explained, "I'm not that drugged. It's a long story and I haven't finished processing it. I'm sure you understand, after your experience with Avery at the Academy."

"You know about him?" Simmons asked.

"I know that he hurt you pretty badly because he was an idiot," Felix commented. "A lot like me."

"No," Jemma Simmons firmly stated, "Not at all like you."

They entwined their fingers and Blake smiled at her, an honest to goodness smile.

"Hey!" John Garrett catcalled down the hallway. He and Phil had been eavesdropping as well, they did work for an intelligence agency, and they had wanted Blake and Simmons to converse. Now that the two had, Garrett and Coulson were quite hungry. "Anyone up for flaming cheese?"


	19. Attack of the Deadly Moussaka

So totally Joss'd :)

* * *

"Where's the fire extinguisher?" Blake asked. He struggled and then winced when he jarred his injured hip. Simmons put her hands on his shoulders and tried to gently push him back into his bed. Instead of leaning back, helping her, an agitated Felix struggled against her gentle hands and whispered, "Don't...restrain… me… I can't handle that…. I can't…"

Simmons pulled back and Felix apologized. Over and over again.

"I'm sorry," Simmons whispered.

"My fault. Being held down is one of my myriad of trigger points. Grab a Flakey Blakey card and you can mark off my quirks. Stick around because a full Blake card wins you a brand new car. Let's see, you can check off claustrophobia, inability to converse except under the influence of heavy drugs, and absolutely no desire to be a sub if you want to roleplay."

He was serious, Jemma realized. About the Flakey Blakey card game. Either someone (Sitwell? Ward? Claire?) had made up the cards and he had taken the harassment, turned it into his joke, so he owned it, and the sting was lessened. (Not really, but he now owned the joke, much like Coulson had trademarked the Walking Dead Coulson jokes.) Or he had made them one night when he couldn't sleep.

"I don't want to play that game," Jemma informed him.

"Come on, the Flakey Blakey grand prize, is a really sweet car. It's a BMW M6 convertible. San Marino Blue metallic, leather seats, all the fixings," Blake offered. "You'll look amazing in it, long hair streaming in the wind."

Moved by something she couldn't explain, Jemma stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned… **_leaned_**…. In her touch. Like a cat, like a terribly lonely man starved for physical affection.

"I do not wish to play the Flakey Blakey game."

A perplexed Felix opened his eyes before he repeated, "But the grand prize is a really sweet car. Better than what I gave Nicolette. I only got her a Mustang."

"She didn't deserved a rusted out Russian Lada where the air conditioning consisted of unrolling a window," snapped Jemma. "You should have given her a seatless unicycle."

"When the drugs wear off, l wonder if what I remember of this conversation will make more sense than it currently does," he mumbled. "Lord knows it doesn't now."

"I hope when the drugs wear off, you'll still be able to talk to me like this," Jemma requested.

He shook his head.

"Keep talking," she softly requested. "Please."

"It's time for flaming cheese," Felix reminded her. "I'll tell you that I'm completely terrified of you and fire in the same room. Remember you can check off 'Really Strange Flakey Blakey Fears that Make Everyone Go WTF' bonus spot on your Flakey Blakey card."

"I don't want to play that game," Jemma repeated.

"It's a really sweet car," Felix reminded her. "Don't you want to win it?"

"Not at your expense," she firmly stated.

"It's ok," he assured her. "I've got a thick skin and it's a really sweet car."

"No, it's **_not_**."

Her fierceness surprised him and he nodded his head.

"Ok, I'll make up a card for you and keep score then. You have to be in it to win it," he reminded her. "I know you'll probably be in need of a nice sensible family car shortly, but 560 horsepower. Convertible. Leather seats. Don't settle for minivan so easily."

Coulson coughed loudly and dramatically from the hallway.

"Easy, we set the cheese on fire in the kitchen, Blake. It's no longer on fire," Phil assured him from the doorway. He and Garrett brought a small table into Blake's bedroom and it was loaded down with various Greek delicacies. It took a bit of juggling to get the table near Blake's side of the bed. "Blake, stand down."

"The thought of Xena here and a flaming cheese in the same room scares me," Blake explained.

"Xena?" Jemma protested.

"She had that thing… that razor circle thing," Felix explained. "She'd whip it around and take down everyone with it. She had the circle thingie, you had a twelve pound bowling ball. Results were the same, though you were wearing sensible clothes, not leather."

"The Chakram," rhapsodically inserted Garrett. "I loved, loved, LOVED Xena. Something about a woman in Leather…" He stopped once he realized that everyone was staring at him. Including Winston. "So Simmons, traditionally, we have bad movie night. Tonight, we're watching a true classic. **_Attack of the Deadly Moussaka._**"

"Who let him pick out the movie?" Felix protested.

"Shut up and eat your moussaka," ordered Phil. "It's beginning to develop into an intelligent life form."

"Et tu, Phille?"

* * *

Dinner was scrumptious and Fitz' trifles were devoured and declared delicious. Phil and John carried most of the conversation with Felix added a dry quip or three when the boys got too rambunctious.

However, watching the movie proved problematic, as both men (and Winston) settled on Blake's bed. Garrett was closest to Blake, then came Phil who was holding a large container of gourmet popcorn and they politely had saved a spot for her on the bed. Now, she had noticed upon entering that Blake's bed was larger than the average king sized bed, but… her mind had thoroughly repressed the fact that it was big enough for four adults and one large dog.

"Simmons, this is bad movie night," Coulson reminded her "We usually sit on the bed as the flat screens is over there."

"Plus there's surround sound speakers… the bass really rumbles the bed," Garrett offered. "When the Imperial Cruisers show up, it's like they're in the room with you."

"Garrett! Do you **_even_** attempt to filter?" Blake asked.

"No," Garrett admitted. "Come on, get on the bed. It's nice, it's comfortable and we're not offering you dinner and a show. Well, we are but the show's not that rating."

There were loud protests about Garrett being a crude bore from the other men.

Garrett merrily continued, "Seriously, you know that's what she's thinking Blake."

"Don't remind me," Coulson added. "Blake?"

Silence, which caused Coulson to repeat his query.

"He's pretending to be unconscious," Garrett stated.

"I'm pretending that I'm dead," retorted an exasperated Felix. "Phil, you get Winston as John may forget to feed him."

"I won't!" protested Garrett. "Besides if you're talking you're not dead."

"You're not getting out this that easily," Coulson barked. "If you're dead, we have ways of bringing you back."

"Cybernetics!" Garrett offered.

"Alien technology!" retorted Phil Coulson.

Simmons realized that she was watching the verbal equivalent of a three way ping pong match and she giggled once she imagined Blake performing a backspin while Coulson corkspun and Garrett lobbed. Her Harem, having forgotten that she was in audience, turned to face her.

"I'll do mouth to mouth," she offered. "Sometimes the basics work best. Felix? Do you need me to do mouth to mouth?"

Really, it was worth stunning the boys. Even for a short time because naturally, John Garrett had to engage his wit.

"Sadly, kissing is not scheduled until after the Single Dates begin in three or so months," John explained. "Felix's schedule plainly does not permit kissing until then. Sorry, Blake, it's either me or Coulson giving you mouth to mouth."

Again, the mention of a schedule, so Simmons asked, "Do I get to see this schedule?"

"It's actually MS-Project," John continued. "There are time frames, goals…"

"Such as not killing John," Blake inserted in a very strangled tone. "Seriously, must you? Really, must you?"

John Garrett stopped in midstream, and then seriously stopped.

"I'm glad somebody keeping everyone scheduled. I want to make sure I spend time equally with you, so I get to know you," Jemma offered. "Can we watch the movie? It's sounds absolutely horrible. And move over, Phil, so I can sit on the bed with you."

Phil gave her a crooked smile, a silent 'Thank you', and Jemma nodded.

* * *

The movie was absolutely horrible, Jemma confessed, but the catcalling and critiquing from her Harem was quite funny. As the movie dragged on, she realized it was just her and Phil. Felix (and Winston) had fallen asleep almost fifteen minutes into the movie, and John followed him in a bit.

"It's tiring taking care of Felix," Phil fondly admitted as he glanced at his two comatose comrades. "Plus this movie brings new meaning to the words horrific, inane and mind-sucking. Want a ride home?"

"I'm tired," she admitted. "It's been a long day."

He insisted on washing and drying the trifle dishes before he drove her home. He walked her to her apartment and then stopped her from opening the door. "Tell Fitz I enjoyed the trifle," he told her. "The Drambuie was a dead giveaway that a Scot made it, not a Sheffield lass. And also, thank you for talking to Felix."

"I'll try dropping him an email," she offered.

She was rewarded with his crooked, bemused smile.

"So what's next of the schedule?" Jemma asked.

"Saturday afternoon. John and I will pick you up at three, if that's ok? John and Felix think that you need your own helmet, rather than grabbing one of our old ones when you ride double on the bikes. We'll take you to a shop and get you properly geared."

After she opened the door to her apartment, he turned to leave, but Simmons tapped him on his shoulder. He turned, curious, as she brushed her lips across his cheek.

"Don't tell John, I'm horrible with schedules. Especially if I don't have any input in them."


	20. Midnight Emails

It was only the quickest of brushes of her lips against his cheek, but Phil Coulson dimpled and blushed.

"I know, I'm ahead of schedule but I wanted to do that," she cheekily admitted.

"The schedule isn't for you, it's for us," Phil explained. "So we don't move too fast for you. You can do whatever you want, it's just a guide for us. You understand that both Felix and I came out of serious, long term relationships and John's… John."

Wisely, she didn't ask how he classified his current best friends with sexual benefits relationship with Felix and John. Jemma Simmons was beginning to comprehend that the trio hadn't really looked too deeply at their odd liaison beyond that it was working extremely well for them. There was trust, there was affection and there no doubt in Jemma's mind that was a great deal of frickle frackle….(Phil's earlier declarations to the contrary).

"Felix mentioned Nicolette," Jemma offered.

"Nicolette," Coulson growled his disgust, leaving no confusion over his dislike. "She took advantage of him, as Felix is very generous to his friends. He let me stay in his apartment as by the time I got out the hospital, my apartment lease had been broken and I had no place to live. He helped me financially get on my feet again after I died. You have no idea what being dead for an extended period does to your credit rating. I gave him all the paperwork and he straightened it all out. I managed to get an apartment in the same building and that's my story."

"Why does Garrett stay with him?" she asked.

"He lost his place after the Chitauri invasions. He bounces between my place and Felix's. He's usually with Felix until Felix loses his patience with him, and he kicks him out. But gently." Phil smiled at the oddity of their friendship. "Then he stays with me, until I kick him out and he shows up on Felix's doorstep as though nothing happened. He's fun, but exhausting."

"Noticed," she admitted with a slight laugh. "He's like a hyperactive two year old."

"If he's too John, let me know, please," he requested. His sincerity deeply amused her and she smiled again which deeply captivated him.

"I like it when you smile." He tilted his head and dimpled again. "I'm sorry about the bed. The screen's on the wall across from it, and … Felix got an extra-large bed because Winston sprawls when he naps. Winston is an hundred pound dog who knows that he's human, so he sleeps on a human bed. He's just too massive to be happy with a twin. Once we can safely move Felix, date night will NOT be taking place in his bedroom. We'll be able to prop him in his living room on the sectional."

"It's ok," Jemma assured him. "Though that movie was horrible."

"We were planning on a board game, but John saw the movie and thought it would be perfect." Phil grinned, showing his fond, exasperated amusement for John Garrett.

"I'll have nightmares tonight about being chased by manic Moussakas, deranged Dolmades and sentient Spanakopita."

"Rest assured that the Three Musketeers and the ever faithful Winston will come to your defense," Phil assured her. "I swear it on the oath of a Musketeer that I will not let m'lady come to harm from any degenerate Grecian delicacies."

He grinned again and Jemma realized that he was flirting. With her. So she blushed again which made her decide it was time for a strategic retreat.

"I better go," she finally offered.

"Saturday. 3PM. John and I are taking you shopping for gear. Hall Monitor Blake is insisting helmet and riding gear, which means full set of leathers plus gloves. He wasn't happy with your boots and neither was I, to be honest."

"Sounds expensive," she admitted. "Any idea how much it will run?"

"Blake's paying for it," Phil advised. "I told you he's generous and he was vexed with John for permitting you to use one of our spare helmets. The fit was good, but it could have been better."

"Are he and I… _friends_?" she asked. The very thought was absurd and painfully bittersweet because they had spoken perhaps three times total (once mainly due to the assistance of hard drugs) and she had hurdled a bowling ball at him, maiming him.

Phil didn't directly answer the question, she noticed, when he finally answered. "In the future, you may be the mother of either his children or his closest friends' children. Some advice? Give him the slightest bit of kindness, he'll treat you like you're made of gossamer silk and worship the very ground you tread upon. He's got a thing for smart ladies with hazel eyes. Just don't take advantage of it, please."

"Was Nicolette kind to him?"

"In the beginning," Phil said. "Then she took advantage of his generosity as he absolutely adored her. The final straw was when she cleaned out Blake's apartment when she left. Taking his coffee machine was a vindictive act of true cruelty."

Jemma didn't say anything and then Phil smiled a very blood thirsty grin, completely at odds with his mild demeanor, "John and I broke into her place and took his coffee machine back. Plus a few other items that were most assuredly not hers."

"I'm glad you did that." Her approving tone was quite fierce which caused Phil to laugh.

Then he offered her his good hand, "Good night."

"Good night," she whispered.

* * *

Phil Coulson drove for a few hours, deep in thought, and he finally decided it was time for bed. He parked Lola, wished her a good night (as Lola was a person, much like Winston, regardless of what Garrett said) and decided to skip the elevator and walk up the steps. He opened the apartment door, hung up his clothes neatly, stripped and crawled into bed.

Garrett turned towards him and spooned him, so Phil was the little spoon (naturally), and Garrett pulled the covers over him.

"What's bothering you so much that you decided to land at Casa del Blake?" Garrett asked. "Simmons?"

Phil nodded, and bit his lip.

"Missing Aud something fierce tonight, aren't you?"

Again with the head nod, as repressed emotions were threatening to break free.

"You just relax," Garrett whispered. "You close your eyes and I'll take really good care of you. I'll rub your shoulders first. They're just so tense and I'm massaging them now. Long, slow, deep massage because you're so tense."

Phil Coulson tightly closed his eyes while John told him exactly what he was doing, how and where he was touching Phil. It was slow, it was hypnotic as he drifted as he listened to John's voice as he described in explicit, dirty detail what exactly he was doing to Phil… and for a brief moment, Phil almost believed that he **_felt_** how John touched him…

"That's it, Phil," Garrett murmured. "You just relax…You need this…"

There was a budding warmth in his belly and… then he called out, "Aud", while he climaxed hard. A thankfully quiet John Garrett just held him and let him come down at his own pace.

"Let me clean you up and you can fall sleep," John requested after Phil was finally coherent enough to whisper his thanks.

"Let me reciprocate," Phil drowsily demanded even though he was quite content to fall asleep.

"Can't, I need to wake up quickly if Felix needs anything. He told me to sleep in my bed tonight. Plus you need to get up early today and take Winston for a nice, long run."

The anticipated protest wasn't voiced as Phil Coulson was quite utterly dead to the world. John Garrett just smiled and covered Phil.

* * *

Skye and Fitz had waited for her return, as they desired a full report. Jemma refused to slake their curiosity and instead she asked Skye for more information on Audrey and Nicolette.

"Sending it to your computer," Skye assured her. "How's my scary Boss doing?"

"He's actually quite nice, Skye," Jemma insisted. "Just introverted."

"She's scared of him," Fitz laughingly explained. "He give her that head tilt and the glower and she screams like she's a little girl."

"Take that back," Skye protested.

"AAAAHHH, It's AGENT BLAKE!" Fitz impersonated Skye rather well, in a high falsetto and American accent. "Quick! HIDE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

"I'm off to bed. Night," Jemma primly announced.

* * *

She changed from 'dating clothes' into her comfortable jimjams before she pulled out her tablet. There were already two files waiting for her – one marked Audrey, one marked Nicolette.

"Audrey," she decided.

Her bio displayed on her tablet, so Jemma scrolled. Accomplished celloist, issue with a stalker, Phil had been in charge of the case. The two of them had really connected, so they had started dating. There were pictures of the two of them, with Phil looking happy. Videos of a radiant Audrey playing her cello with various reviews from the local papers. Audrey was … very pretty, but there was an inherent glee that came through even the still photos.

Nicollete's file was similar. Brief bio. No videos, but pictures. She seemed… sharp…and edgy… to Jemma.

Jemma had flipped through several pictures when she stopped and returned to the first picture as there was a nagging sensation that bothered her. The infamous Nicollete was standing next to a smiling man with black hair, heavy lidded eyes…. blue eyes… in front of a brand new Mustang convertible.

Felix? Felix Blake?

_But the grand prize is a really sweet car. Better than what I gave Nicolette. I only got her a Mustang._

More pictures, Blake was laughing… smiling… and the final picture was the two of them. Blake widely grinning and he was proudly displaying Nicolette's left hand to the camera.

Fucking huge rock on her ring finger. Huge, blinding ring.

_Felix is very generous._

They had been engaged, Jemma realized. She glanced at the date on the photo, realized it was a few months before the fall of New York.

She closed the file and there was another file that Skye had found for her. There was a note attached to it.

** _Graphic. May not want to open. _ **

Did that stop Jemma Simmons, not one bit.

No video. John Garrett's voice. Shaky. Upset. "Phil's down as that Loki bastard stabbed him. I'm getting a hit on Felix's phone and it's under what used to be a building. Phones are down due to the battle. I've got to look for Felix because if his phone's intact…. Might mean he's still alive."

Broken bits of commentary. John's increasingly frantic tone intermingled with a great deal of creative cursing and comments about how he had to find Blake…. Something about how he couldn't lose another team?

"I heard him. He's screaming. He sounds fucking terrified. Least I've got the bystanders organized, they're helping me now, pulling people out of the wreckage. I'm in the bowels of the building now, and it's so fucking unstable that I think it might collapse on me. God, it's John Garrett, I know we haven't talked in years, but do you think you could make it quick?"

More broken commentary. Obscene comments and the sounds of materials being carefully and deliberately moved.

"Blake stopped screaming. I hope it means he's unconscious."

More cursing, a stomach churning moment when she heard the building shift and Garrett cursed.

"Felix? Talk to me, for the love of God, talk to me, please. SHIELD HQ, this is Agent Garrett, I've found Agent Blake. He's got multiple long bone fractures and we need extrication. Come on, Felix, talk to me, man. Eyes on me, Blake."

She closed the file as there was much more to listen to, and she couldn't bear it. Instead, she opened her email. Jemma had promised that she'd email Felix, so she did.

_Felix,_

_I'm so glad we finally got the chance to talk tonight. I understand that I'm to be properly outfitted on Saturday but I insist… insist…. on paying for it._

_Jemma_

She sent the email and she realized that she was too wired to sleep.

There was a pop and a new email flag appeared. She clicked on it, thinking it was probably spam for a porn dating site when she recognized the email address. It was probably safe to open as she doubled Felix Blake would send her a Trojan.

** _Simmons_ **

** _It's 2:32 AM, why are you awake and sending emails? Shouldn't you be sleeping? Dreaming pleasant dreams? As for the gear, it's expensive and I don't want you to skimp. Good safety gear may prevent you from getting seriously hurt. _ **

** _Felix_ **

_Felix,_

_I had nightmares of being chased by Sentient Spanakopita. And what about you? It's 2:38 AM._

_ALSO, I'm paying for the gear. I'm an independent girl who pays her own way. You're being far too generous.  
_

_Jemma_

** _Jemma –_ **

** _Very noisy roommate who besides being inconsiderate has absolutely shitty taste in movies. He and Phil are having a private conversation and are being very loud. I'm ignoring it because Phil needed to vent. Have you tried warm milk?_ **

** _FB_ **

** _PS – You can't win about the gear as Phil agreed with me. Too bad. Feel free to blink your eyes at him, pout, quiver your lip and stamp your foot. It won't work. He has a heart of stone. Safety first, Simmons. I have an obsessive focus on safety.  
_ **

** _PS2 – Fitz agreed with me on this also._ **

** _PS3 – Absolutely no way in hell you can win. Just give up now. Keep your pride._ **

_F –_

_Warm Milk – Bluck._

_Seriously you and Phil ganging up on me! What about John?_

_And you talk to FITZ?_

_J_

** _Jemma_ **

** _John Garrett is a prime example of why you should wear your helmet at all times. Do you want to end up like him? _ **

** _Do you?_ **

** _Now, do you?_ **

** _Also ask John about the angry bee on the Maine Turnpike. _ **

** _Needed to get your size from Fitz. He even took a scan of your head so we have a rough idea on what size helmet. And you thought he was trying out a thermonuclear body scanner. WRONG! Also, needed to reassure Fitz that we'd behave._ **

** _He has threatened us. _ **

** _F_ **

** _PS – A protective Fitz is very scary._ **

** _PS2 - Even scarier than a pissed off Phil Coulson which could give the Hulk some lessons in anger issues._ **

** _PS3 - Shouldn't you stop emailing me and try to get some sleep? Some of the able bodied need to get to work today. _ **

** _PS4 - Fitz has agreed with your need for proper protective gear, so go argue with him._ **

** _PS5 – Have you tried using a mantram to get you to sleep?_ **

** _Turn off your computer. Lie on your back, get comfortable. Close your eyes, clear your mind, inhale and exhale slowly and then mentally repeat the first two lines of the Periodical Table. H, He, Li, B, C, N, O, F, Ne. Relax completely and permit yourself to float away. _ **

** _I usually use Beatle lyrics. _ **

** _Life is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see…._ **

* * *

Jemma Simmons turned off her computer and placed it on the floor. She closed her eyes and stretched out on the bed. Running through a barely remembered yoga class from years previous, she tensed and then relaxed her muscles, all the while mentally chanting the Periodical Table.

** _This is silly! _ **

**_Sweep your mind, _**Felix Blake mentally instructed her.

**_SWEEPING!_** She quipped as she energetically swept her mind clear of anything and everything that was distracting her. Then Jemma began mentally murmuring the Periodical Table.

H, He, Li, B, C, N, O, F, Ne…..

She didn't make it to Li before she was deeply asleep.


	21. Friday Night Emails

Friday night

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _J –_ **

** _It appears that we are having a philosophical difference over your gear._ **

** _Phil sees the glass half full. I see the glass half empty with a strong possibility of spillage plus my immediate electrocution if you're nearby. You see the glass completely full, half in the liquid state and half in the vapor state._ **

** _Regardless of our differences, you're still not buying your own gear. Stamp your feet, quiver your lip, bowl me over again (Once second thought, let's not and say you did because I am absolutely trucking stir crazy right now). Phil and I have worn John down and he agreed that Phil, as the single solitary adult of the two of them, is selecting what you need. Pretty much all you do is show up, try it on and decide if you want your helmet in hot pink. (Please, no, as it will embarrass Winston to no end and you won't want that, do you?)._ **

** _FXB_ **

** _PS Thank Fitz for the Hairst Bree. Garrett can't cook so it was nice to get a home cooked meal. _ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_F –_

_You're positively verbose on email._

_And no, I would never, ever embarrass Winston. He is an utter love, unlike his owner, who seems to be a bit of a curmudgeon until you start chatting with him._

_J_

_PS Also, I did the Hairst Bree. Not Fitz._

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _J_ **

** _Drug-induced chattiness. Thank dog for autocorrect. Though it insists on cleaning up my language. Trucking indeed. Truck truck truck is a poor imitation for the true word that I utilized as it can be a verb, noun, adjective and adverb. _ **

** _F_ **

** _PS I don't believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny or your claims at being able to cook. Harist Bree is Scottish, Glaswegian I believe, which is from where Fitz hails, though I'll give you credit for dicing up the vegetables so evenly that even my OCD couldn't be offended. Though I'm not sure how you could do that when you left the apartment at eleven and it was on my doorstep on 6am._ **

** _However I'm feeling quite magnanimous (again due to this really intense sit…Truck you autocorrect… drugs) so I'll give you credit. [Though those vegetables looked as though they were laser cut, so once again – FITZ?)_ **

** _Seriously how the shell did I get the Disneyfied version of autocorrect on my dictation software? It can handle Glaswegian but not truck, shell or sit. Dog help me. I bet Garrett played with the trucking settings._ **

** _Once I'm mobile, I'm kicking his glass from here to shell._ **

** _PS 2 I am a curmudgeon. Damn proud of it, as I am Double Black belt in curmudgeonly comments._ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_My dearest F of the impressive though rather naughty vocabulary;_

_I picked out the recipe. Doesn't that count?_

_J_

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Posh Spice;_ **

** _NO_ **

** _F_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Dear cranky Felix;_

_Just to prove I can cook, I'll make you a cake,_

_J_

_PS What is it with your need to nickname me?_

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Barefoot BioChemist_ ** _._

** _Regarding your kind offer to make me a cake._ **

** _SHELL NO! I heard about the incident in the Academy when you felt homesick and wanted to make Gateau over a Bunsen burner. Four alarm fire, mandatory evacuation and something about Anne Weaver, a helicopter and a scantily clad fireman with a big hose and her requiring extensive mouth to mouth after a near death experience. She seemed to have a religious experience as she was screaming, "Oh my Dog!" loudly and repeatedly._ **

** _F_ **

** _PS Who as a good Catholic boy refuses to even consider any other explanation for Anne Weaver's screams of Hallelujah other than her delight at being rescued?_ **

** _By a scantily clad firefighter._ **

** _Who she later married._ **

** _On an island in Bermuda._ **

** _PS2 I nickname because I can._ **

** _CC: Phil Coulson, John Garrett_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_I deny all knowledge or any involvement with that supposed incident._

_Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, PhD. _

_PS I find it difficult to believe that you're a good Catholic boy._

_PS2 Try using my name. It's not that hard, Felix._

_CC: Phil Coulson, John Garrett_

* * *

** _To: Ms. Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, MA, MS, MS, PhD, PhD  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Ms. Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, MA, MS, MS, PhD, PhD_ **

** _You're right. Using your name wasn't that hard. I'll try to remember it in the future, Ms. Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, MA, MS, MS, PhD, PhD._ **

** _As to your implausible proclamation of your supposed innocence in the destruction of the Academy Lab area, Ms. Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, MA, MS, MS, PhD, PhD. _ **

** _Got pictures._ **

** _Got video._ **

** _Got all the supporting depositions and the copies of the bills to replace the lab._ **

** _Needless to say, even John Garrett's impressed as he was a bit of pyro early on in his career. Phil, on the other hand, is refusing to let Ms. Jemma Elizabeth Simmons, MA, MS, MS, PhD, PhD so much as breathe on Lola._ **

** _I was most assuredly was highly impressed! John_ **

** _CC: Phil Coulson, John Garrett_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Are you investigating me?_

_J_

_PS Please feel free to go back to nicknaming me. You utilizing my full name makes me feel like I'm being chastised by my father. _

_PS2 No rude comment about your advance age was intended in the previous PS._

_CC: Phil Coulson, John Garrett_

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Mrs. Emma Peel_ ** _._

** _Darn straight I have investigated you and Fitz. I've previously flagged my background so I was informed that my new assistant, she of the one word fictitious name, of the inability to make coffee, has pulled all non-confidential files on me, so you could peruse at your convenience. I also discovered that both Garrett and Coulson's files have been accessed. Therefore it was only fair that I did the same, as I have much better resources._ **

** _I'm warning you, Mary Sue Pootz, if you attempt to view my financial records or my credit report, I will make your life an absolutely trucking living shell. _ **

** _Dog help you if you actually succeed. _ **

** _Is that understood? John Garrett will provide UnDisneyfied Translation if required._ **

** _Felix X. Blake_ **

** _I'd be worried, Blue Skies – John Garrett_ **

** _PS That PS regarding no rude comment meant about my supposed advanced state of decrepitude was rather mean. _ **

** _PS2 Perhaps I shouldn't call you Mrs. Peel, as I remember she wore a leather catsuit. You dress more like Jessica Fletcher._ **

** _CC: MarySue_Pootz _ **

** _CC: Phil Coulson, John Garrett_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Skye_

_Dear Agent Blake;_

_I'm sure you could understand that I was worried for Jemma and wanted to reassure her what a fine group of upstanding gentlemen you all are._

_I promise you that I won't attempt to access your financial records, however truth demands me admit that I am absolutely amazed at your credit score. As you may remember it is part of your yearly evaluation._

_Do you think if I beg, you might be able to help me with my score?_

_Please?_

_Skye_

_PS I'll learn how to make the best cup of coffee ever if you could help me with my credit score._

_CC: Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson, John Garrett_

* * *

** _To: Skye_noKnownLastName  
From: John Garrett_ **

** _Hey Blue Skies;_ **

** _Begging doesn't work with our Felix. Nor does blatant attempts at flattery because the bullshit detector alarm went off from your email. It filled the apartment with the most noxious odors and we were required to open all the windows._ **

** _Felix is the most pragmatic of souls. Begging and flattery does not work. Bribery does. _ **

** _For example, French Macarons. In particular; Mocha, Nutella, Vanilla, White Chocolate and Strawberry from a small shop on 59th Street between Madison and Park Avenues._ **

** _I'm partial to Crème Brulee and Pistachio. Understand that there is a handler's charge for managing Felix Blake that I will charge. No credit. Payment in advance, especially with your credit score._ **

** _John Garrett_ **

** _CC: Jemma Simmons, Felix Blake, Phil Coulson_ **

* * *

** _To: MarySue Pootz  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Good Dog Mary Sue._ **

** _I've seen your credit score. I didn't even realize that scores came that low._ **

** _I'm a trucking field officer, not a miracle worker._ **

** _Bring everything to my apartment this Sunday at 3:00 PM. I'll see what I can salvage. You may want to change your name again, it might be easier to create a new persona than to deal with the Financial Fiasco you call your life._ **

** _CC: Jemma Simmons, John Garrett, Phil Coulson_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Skye_

_Thank you Felix! _ _:) :) :) :)  
_

_I'll bring you coffee and French Macarons. Promise!_

_Skye_

_CC: Jemma Simmons, John Garrett, Phil Coulson_

* * *

** _To: MarySue Pootz  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Mary Sue;_ **

** _Regardless of your role in these shenanigans, I'm still, and always will, remain Agent Blake to you._ **

** _FXB_ **

** _CC: Jemma Simmons, John Garrett, Phil Coulson_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Dearest Agent Blake;_

_I'll Jessica Fletcher you._

_Jemma, not Jessica. _

_CC: Skye, John Garrett, Phil Coulson_

* * *

** _To: Felix Blake  
From: John Garrett_ **

** _We want pictures! Lots of pictures! DETAILS!_ **

** _John _ **

** _CC: Phil Coulson_ **

* * *

** _To: John Garrett, Phil Coulson  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _John, Phil_ **

** _Help?_ **

** _Felix_ **

* * *

** _To: Felix X. Blake  
From: Phil Coulson_ **

** _Felix;_ **

** _Love you like a brother, but you stirred the hornet's nest. Though I always though Jessica Fletcher's most attractive feature was her brilliant deductive mind._ **

** _In other words, you're on your own, bro._ **

** _Phil_ **

** _PS - Nobody put in a request for the French Macarons I liked? That's rude. Really rude._ **

** _CC: John Garrett._ **

* * *

_To: Skye, Fitz  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Skye, Fitz;_

_I HAVE A FASHION EMERGENCY! THIS IS A CODE BAD GIRL SHENNANIGANS!_

_Jemma_

* * *

_To: Jemma_  
_From: Fitz_

_ Jemma,_

_What happened, you just looked at your wardrobe?_

_Love;_

_Fitz_

_CC: Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye, Fitz  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Fitz;_

_So spoke the man who is clad in plaid._

_NO! Felix says I dress like Angela LANSBURY!_

_Jemma_

_CC: Skye_

* * *

_To: Simmons  
From: Fitz_

_Jemma;_

_Last time I looked, you do._

_F_

_CC: Skye_

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_F – _

_With much love and respect; Fuck you. Fuck you until the cows come home. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._

_Jemma_

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Dr. Simmons,_ **

** _Regarding your generous offer of trucking me until the cows come home?_ **

** _I beg your pardon?_ **

** _I'm currently immobilized with extremely limited hip movement due to you, remember? I also don't do restraints? I think we discussed this in detail when you expressed your desire to watch me scream like a little girl when the boys rode me like their witch?_ **

** _Very concernedly yours;_ **

** _Felix X. Blake_ **

** _(Who is looking to see if the night night gun is handy just in case you break into my apartment or worse yet, John lets you in as he's a sick custard like that.)_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_OMIGOD! WRONG EMAIL! I'M SO SORRY!_

_THAT WAS MEANT FOR FITZ! NOT YOU!_

_JEMMA _

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Jemma_ **

** _Ok – Your most generous offer of trucking me until the cows collapsed in physical exhaustion just scared me. Let me instead, offer my deepest sympathies to Leopold Fitz, who is apparently doomed to death by brewing. Trucking. _ **

** _I really need to fix my trucking audio transcription as this sit is beginning to kiss me off. Either that or I need to get a keyboard for my tablet. _ **

** _Felix_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Felix_

_I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm SO SORRY!_

_Jemma_

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Jemma;_ **

** _No worries._ **

** _Even without my warped obsessions with arrays and configurations, I'm beginning to detect a pattern with you. At this rate, soon I'm be amused rather than deeply trucking traumatized by your outbursts._ **

** _Must let my therapist know; he'll be proud that I'm making progress._ **

** _Felix_ **

* * *

_To: Felix Blake  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_F –_

_How can I properly express my regret? Coffee? French Macarons?_

_Not dressing like Jessica Fletcher?_

_ Meeting your therapist so he can understand who has traumatized you so badly?_

_Jemma_

* * *

** _To: Jemma Simmons  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Jemma of the entertaining eruptions;_ **

** _Keep outbursting away; however, Winston could really do with a proper run in the park, as he's utterly bored. So between him and John, I have two rambunctious two years old to deal with._ **

** _Also regarding the French Macarons; tell Skye to bring some Chocolate Caramel and Expresso for Phil please._ **

** _He's whining that he was ignored when she was taking orders._ **

_ **Also I'd like if you could please show up when my so-called Assistant arrives with her finances. Wear whatever you want.** _

_ ** As for meeting Timmy, I'm not sure you're up to that yet. He's a force of nature, but he's quite utterly British, so you'd two would hit it off and talk about weird British things, like British Bacon as apparently American Bacon is a high crime against humanity?** _

** _F_ **

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Fitz_

_I just sent this email to Felix by mistake…. This should have gone to you._

_F – _

_With much love and respect; Fuck you. Fuck you until the cows come home. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._

_Jemma_

_CC: Skye_

* * *

_To: Jemma  
From: Fitz_

_Dearest;_

_We've had this discussion several times. You're simply not my type._

_Love;_

_Fitzie_

_PS Did you kill Felix again?_

_CC: Skye_

* * *

_To: Simmons, Fitz  
From: Skye_

_Fitzie & Simmons;_

_I think I need to order a defib unit for Agent Blake's personal use. Reminding myself to order it on Monday when I'm in the office._

_Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye, Fitz  
From: Jemma Simmons_

_Fitz & Skye;_

_Forget the bloody Defib unit._

_I NEED HELP! I DON'T WANT TO DRESS LIKE ANGELA LANSBURY! I want to be sexy and show cleavage!_

_Help!_

_Jemma_

* * *

_To: Skye_  
From: Fitz

Skye;

_Regarding Jemma's urge to be sexy, this is far beyond my scope as BFF. I don't think she could pull off sexy without injuring someone. We nearly permanently maimed one eligible bachelor on the unspeakable horror known as Bowling Nite, I fear to imagine what world wide devastation Sexy Simmons might unleash._

_Help?_

_Fitz_

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye_

_Leave it to me. I'll handle it._

_Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Skye;_

_If you can pull this off, Anne Sullivan has nothing on you._

_Fitz_

* * *

_To: Jemma  
From: Skye _

_Jemma;_

_I'll meet you and Fitz tomorrow at ten. We'll go shopping!_

_Skye_

_CC: Fitz_

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye _

_Skye;_

_WTF? How am I involved with this?_

_Fitz_

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye _

_Fitz:_

_We need a male's opinion on her clothes._

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Skye;_

_Seriously. No._

_Fitz_

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye _

_Fitz;_

_I could ask Jasper._

_Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Skye:_

_You're evil. Evil. EVIL. I pity Felix for having to work with you. I'll be there, with swatches for colors that she looks good in._

_Fitz_

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Fitz;_

_That's Agent Blake to you._

_Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Skye;_

_Not to me, he and I are quite chummy. He also has deliciously blue eyes and a nice tight bum you could bounce a pence off of. So does Coulson._

_Fitz_

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye _

_Fitz;_

_Hate you. I'm now gonna stare at his baby blues each and every time I see him. So Blake and Coulson have nice butts. What about Garrett?_

_Skye_

PS He lets you call him FELIX?!

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Skye;_

_Least you're not staring at his pens. Bloody Shell, looks like I got hit with the Disneyficiation Virus also._

_Garrett's got big hands and broad shoulders. Plus he's really funny._

_Fitz_

PS He's quasi dating my BFF, so he figured "Agent Blake" would cause some problems in our off hours.

_PS2 – in other words, he likes me. What can I say but I'm adorable?_

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye _

_Fitz;_

_It's a setting. I'll send you instructions on how to fix it. Please stop telling me how hot Jemma's Harem is, else I'll start asking for her leftovers._

_Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_S – _

_Send it to your boss. It might get you some points after you set his office ablaze. Really, you never thought to put water into the coffee machine before you turned it on?_

_Did you even bother to grind the coffee beans?_

_F_

_PS – I'd take her leftovers in a heartbeat, but I think they're predominately hetro. Shame. _

* * *

_To: Fitz  
From: Skye _

_F_

_What is this grinding of coffee beans of which you speak? The concept is not one of which I am aware._

_S_

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Fitz _

_Dearest Yoda;_

_You're trucking kidding me, aren't you?_

_ObiWan Fitz_

* * *

_To: Agent Blake  
From: Skye _

_Dear Agent Blake;_

_To fix the autocorrect of certain words to Disney-level, please go into your SHIELD INBOX on your desktop. Click on it. Click on Settings. Click on the 3rd Tab entitled " HOOVER", half way down on the right under AUTOCORRECT – unclick NICK FURY. You should now be able to curse to your heart's content._

_Skye_

* * *

** _To: MarySue Pootz  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Skye;_ **

** _Thank you! It fucking worked! I'll get your credit score up to 350 by Sunday night._ **

** _FXB_ **

* * *

_To: Agent Blake  
From: Skye_

_Dear Agent Blake;_

_I think it's worth 450 at least._

* * *

** _To: MarySue Pootz  
From: Felix X. Blake_ **

** _Dear Skye;_ **

** _400. Final deal._ **

** _FXB_ **

* * *

_To: Agent Blake  
From: Skye_

_Dear Agent Blake;_

_Ok, Boss. 400 it is._

_Skye_

* * *

_To: Skye_  
From: Simmons

Thank you for your help. I've never really had a 'girlfriend' before. This dating scene is completely foreign to me. Can you tell?

JS

* * *

_To: Simmons_  
From: Skye

Thank you. I didn't have a lot of friends growing up and I like helping you. As for dating, I'm used to movie theaters and the back of my van. It's different when they're men. A little more patience, better thread count and real cuisine.

Skye

_You seem to be hitting it off with Agent Blake. Can you make some suggestions so he will stop obviously hating me? I'm really trying to be a good assistant. Fury really wants Blake to have a reliable assistant, and I've been told this is a make or break assignment for me._

* * *

_To: Skye  
From: Simmons _

_Sunday morning, come over for breakfast and I'll teach you how to make coffee. _

_Other than that, he's prickly as a porcupine, so relax. When you're nervous around him, he gets stressed out and anxious. He can be quite sweet when he's stoned.  
_

* * *

_To: Simmons_  
From: Skye

_ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT I DRUG MY BOSS?!_


	22. Gelato and leather

Saturday morning.

"Cleavage," Skye informed a serious Jemma Simmons. "Is a girl's best weapon. Because you will distract the boys with your womanly curves and then you will use your brain to utterly destroy them."

"Simmons has already maimed one of the boys, can we use another term?" Fitz requested. He was busy being Jemma Simmons' Walking Clothes Rack while Skye merrily pillaged the sales rack at H&M. "And no, no, no. I will not permit her to wear a leopard tube top in our apartment, let alone outside."

"Why?" Jemma asked.

"Raise your arms and you could give your boys a free show," reminded Fitz. "Straps are not optional. No leather bustiers, and no cropped tops, especially with PEACHY written across your…."

"FITZ!" Shrieked Jemma.

"You're dealing with **_three_** **_men_**, Simmons. Three of them at the same time, you wear something like that bustier and I predict one of two things. That they'll either get you drunk on really good champagne or excellent liquor and then they will flirt outrageously with you. And that will end up…"

"FITZ," hissed Skye and Simmons.

"With Felix back in traction and Phil and John in Cardiac Care."

Skye's expressive face fell as she protested, "Wait, you call **_all of them_** by their first names?"

Meanwhile, Jemma Simmons appeared horrified at being classified as a Black Widow or in her case the Merry Maimer of Mature, Marriageable Men. "Fitz!"

"Stiches! Splints! Surgery! Scarring! From a night of bowling, Simmons. Phil's still splinted and Felix is still flat on his back in bed." Fitz began before Skye interrupted.

"Trust Leo to notice that," added a snarky Skye who was quite perturbed that she was not permitted to call any of Jemma's harem by their first name.

"Can you just imagine that sheer amount of devastation that Sexy Simmons would inflict on them? It would be like an amorous Godzilla unleashed on Tokyo. They're older, their bones are brittle and they don't bounce particularly well as we witnessed firsthand. And yes, I've noticed that Felix is flat on his back because I visited him and brought him coffee."

"You visited Agent Blake?" Skye protested. "He let you visit?"

"I just showed up with coffee and sandwiches. I also brought Winston a squeaky toy."

"Are you trying to date him?" Skye asked which caused the little Scottish bear to glare at her.

"NO! I'm trying to get to know the three men that Jemma is… involved with," protested Fitz. "I want to approve of whomever she selects."

Jemma Simmons hugged her best friend, ignoring the fact that he was holding seventeen tops and three pairs of cute jeans.

"Now remember, whatever you pick, you'll have to wear it when you shopping for gear, so nothing too girly."

"Not too Jessica Fletcher, not too girly. Should I grab a tee and a pair of jeans?" Jemma asked.

"Probably, and don't forget to grab that bandage sweater that we saw in that one shop window. Grab it for later on," Fitz decided.

* * *

Phil and John showed up promptly at her door. Jemma gave Fitz a quick kiss goodbye and then headed toward the door.

"I won't wait up!" Fitz catcalled.

The two men pretended not to hear but they escorted her to John's car.

"Just to warn you, our slightly obsessive friend has given me a list," Phil explained to Jemma even as he opened the door for her. "I think he's already picked out your jacket."

Jemma smiled and shook her head.

"No protestations?" John asked.

"Not when he's described as **_our_** friend," she stated with great sincerity. The two gentlemen smiled their approval.

"The person who owns the shop is a former coworker," Phil explained once they arrived at the shop. "He worked in the tech department."

"The stuff he could do! Fitz would love a chance to chat with him," John inserted from the driver's seat.

There were quite a few leather clad bikers at the shop so Jemma felt odd and out of place, but the two men escorted/force marched her to the salesroom.

"I've been waiting for you three," said a deep voice from the back room. "Come on back, I've got the gear set up. I've got company though."

"Thanks, Skull!" John answered as he walked towards the back room.

"Skull?" whispered Jemma Simmons.

"John 'Skull' Skulimowski," Phil explained.

Skull turned out to be a mild-mannered looking man with greying hair and sharp eyes. "Dr. Simmons? I presume?"

At the mention of her name, the other person in the room turned to face her. He was older, close cropped hair, thick mustache and he had a cigar in his mouth. For some reason, he seemed concerned, looked her up, looked her down, counted her teeth, saw how Phil and John reacted with her and then relaxed. Jemma noticed how both John and Phil straightened …. Instinctively. They probably weren't even aware of how they stood straighter, and how they stood just so, almost at attention, but she noticed.

She nervously smiled at him, and he took the cigar out of his mouth.

"I'm Tim," he informed her as he offered her his hand, fortunately sans cigar. His British accent was thick and she smiled. "These hooligans treating you well? If not, let me know, Dr. Simmons."

"They're being perfect gentlemen, Tim. Please also call me Jemma. Are you… Lancashire?"

Tim smiled and nodded.

"Getting gear are you?" he asked. "Much riding experience?"

"Very little, so my friend is insisting that I get proper gear before he'll let me ride double again."

"Smart man takes precautions and shouldn't be ashamed of his concern. A jacket and helmet with airbags is really just basic safety safeguards. One should use the latest safety technology to prevent injury." Tim easily agreed. "Tell Felix I said that, wontcha Phil? Maybe he'll stop wearing just leather and armor then."

A dawning realization of who Tim was in relationship to her odd little harem settled upon her. **_Tim was Felix's therapist. _**

"Yes, sir!" Phil snapped. Really, Jemma heard Phil's heels click when he snapped to attention.

Jemma turned to face Tim who gave her a secretive wink. "We'll talk later, Jemma. I'm sure of it. Pleasure."

"I believe we're supposed to compare British bacon verses American bacon?" She asked. "After all, it is a ..."

"High crime against humanity," they exclaimed together before sharing a mutual laugh about those crazy Americans.

Then he leaned towards her and requested, "Call me if you have any questions about… bacon?" He slipped her a piece of paper and gave her a warm smile. "Call me anytime. Just between the two of us, I came here to meet you because he'll take forever before he introduces us. Don't worry, I'll tell him that I met you."

Tim left her after saying his goodbyes and a curious Jemma permitted herself a quick glance at the scrap of paper while he spoke with Phil and John.

A neatly scripted 'Timmy' and a phone number. Plus a scrawled, "_You __do__ know that he smiles when he talks about you?_"

And a delighted Jemma Simmons grinned.

* * *

'Skull' presented her with a selection of gear. Jemma felt a warm fuzzy feeling as the former agent reminded her a great deal of Fitz especially when he gushed poetically over the technology he had incorporated into her gear.

"The jacket is pretty much a choice between this," he explained as he pointed at one black leather jacket. "And this." He said, pointing at the very same jacket.

"It's absolutely cutting edge," Skull continued. "See?"

He took a sharp knife and attempted to rip it. "Tear proof, bullet proof…"

"We'll take your word for it," Phil assured Skull.

"Any reason the bike destabilizes, the alarm sensors go off. If God forbid you fall off the bike, the sensors automatically inflate the airbags. This is the latest technology as it has a slim silhouette as we don't want a pretty girl like you looking like Johnny the Hulk over there."

"HEY!" protested Garrett.

"Try it on," Skull insisted. "It's got vents so it will be cool in the summer but still warm in the winter. Based on the sizing Felix gave me, it should fit you well enough so you can throw a sweatshirt on underneath it."

Jemma put it on and Skull checked the sizing, the length, the sleeves, etc.

"You were pretty sure this was a go," Phil laughed. "You've got it patched already?"

"Patched?" Jemma asked.

"You've got a subdued Union Jack patch on your back with a matching patch on your left shoulder," Phil explained. "Right say British Biker."

She turned to look at the patches and she smiled.

"Thank you John," she said.

A pleased John Garrett rocked on his toes. "Owe me five," he informed a disgusted Phil who handed over the bill to John. "How'd you guess?"

"Had to be the person that put the Winston patch on Felix's jacket. It's the only patch he has on it, but you have several patches," Jemma teased. "Phil's jacket is pretty worn but he doesn't have any patches on it."

She spent the next hour trying on gear, plus she had to pose for Felix as Phil sent him photos. Sometimes it resulted in suggestions from the studio audience aka Blake and there had been a long fifteen minute conversation about boots between Phil, Skull and Blake.

"Oh, hell **_no_**," Phil announced when she managed to pour herself into a pair of leather pants which did absolutely wonderful things to her bum and showed off her curves. "I'm not sending this shot to Felix."

"Come on," John protested as he took out his cell phone to snap a shot. "The poor man is bedbound. This picture will keep him warm at night."

"I **_like_** it," Skull offered. "Those pants fit like a second skin. You can't even tell that there's armor and airbags. I do really good work."

"Turn, and smile for the poor guy," John requested so she did. She tried for a coquettish grin with a saucy stance and an approving John leered at her. He was too funny so she laughed, which probably spoiled the sex kitten pose she was attempting. And since she was practicing being flirtatious, and she had buzzed Phil and Felix on the cheek, she kissed John once on his cheek which earned her a delighted growl from Garrett.

Phil shook his head and protested, "Simmons, please do not feed the animals and please, do not encourage Garrett. And no, on those pants. They're a fatality just waiting to happen. Felix agrees with me. A big HELL No on those pants. Let's try another size or something. Maybe chaps?"

"Go talk to your cardiologist, maybe he'll give you clearance, Phil," John offered.

Coulson was talking to Felix, so there was no response. Jemma then walked over to Coulson, grabbed his phone and asked in her very best sultry voice (which was horribly, horribly lame), "I don't think Jessica Fletcher would wear these pants, do you?"

Blake said nothing while John Garrett suggested that Jessica **_Rabbit_** would most assuredly wear those pants.

Jemma waited a minute, and then repeated herself. A little louder just in case Felix hadn't heard her.

"Uhmm…. I was…. Teasing…." Blake finally managed to say after a long, profound silence. "You… know… that…. Right…?"

"Felix," Jemma protested.

"Trying… to be funny… I didn't…. can I speak… with Phil?" Another profound silence and then a soft, almost desperate, "Please?"

"Felix, I'm just teasing you back," whispered Jemma.

"Oh." He attempted a hearty laugh that nearly broke her heart. "I knew that. I think Jessica Fletcher would wear those pants and rock a cardigan with it. You know, probably one with flowers, and she'd have to fight off all the male admirers."

"I wish I had that problem," she confessed.

"Sorry, we won't fight over you," Blake admitted. "We won't because… I don't want to end up with nothing when this roller coaster ends I… I… don't think I'd handle it well. Tim said that he met you?"

"Yes."

"He informed you that he gave you his phone number so feel free to call him…. When I get too flakey blakey. Not that I have to give you permission to do anything but… just wanted to let you know… it's ok… "

"You alright?" Jemma asked.

"I don't know if I can handle another week in bed," he admitted. "I've run out of books to read. I have no friends to do "Words with Friends" with and …. John is not brushing Winston and his beard is a mess. Winston's, not Garrett."

There was a sharp inhalation and then Felix exhaled a curse.

"Your hip?" Jemma asked.

"Sciatica," he shortly admitted.

"I'm almost done playing Biker Barbie and we'll be there soon. Promise."

"I'll see you unless I decide to go out for gelato," Blake informed her. "I'm in the mood for stracciatella. Want Winston and me to pick some up for you when we run out for ours? What flavor?"

"That would be lovely. Surprise me," Jemma insisted.

"No, no, no. You telling me to surprise you means that I will bring home seventy-eleven types of gelato because I will be totally convinced that I didn't pick the right one. I do better with instructions. Clear cut instructions on what to do and how to behave and what to wear and what flavor gelato. I need to know what you expect from me."

Jemma Simmons tried to put a smile in her voice when she spoke. "Felix, whatever happens, you and I will be friends, no matter what. I promise you that you, me and Winston will have lovely afternoons where we go for gelato and you can wear whatever you want."

"You don't need to make promises to me," he assured her.

"We'll be there soon, with gelato, I promise," she said to Blake. "Giving the phone back to Phil now."

She handed the phone back to Phil and she nodded her head. "I think I'll try the chaps now."

"We'll pick up gelato on the way back," Phil promised her.


	23. Kisses and a Broken Down 1983 GMC conver

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

"Here goes nothing," Skye nervously stated. She motioned toward Jemma, who knocked on the door.

"Hello, Mary Sue! Goodbye heart," serenaded John Garrett when he opened the door.

"Hello," Skye said. She was obviously confused by the fact that the turtle necked clad John Garrett had greeted her singing. She was physically burdened down with a cardboard box full of papers and several bakery boxes of various sizes.

"Passed me by one sunny day, flashed those big dark eyes my way. I knew I wanted you forever more. Now I'm not one that gets around, swear my feet stuck to the ground and 'though I never did meet you before," Garrett continued his free concert until Phil jabbed him in the side.

"Come in," Phil offered. "Ignore him as he'll soon get distracted and find another victim. Do you need any help?"

"I'll grab the bakery boxes," offered Garrett. "Phil is a gentleman, and he'll take the heavy box. He's such a gentleman."

Phil rolled his eyes at Garrett, but he took the heavy box even while he ushered Skye and Jemma into the apartment.

"Putting it on the kitchen table," he announced as he walked towards the kitchen table.

"This is nice," Skye admitted as she took a long look at the entrance-way. There were two leather motorcycle jackets nicely hung on a hall tree, Phil's coat and two empty hooks. There two sets of heavy leather boots neatly standing next to it and on the very top shelf, there were three helmets. Two adults size, one much smaller with a pair of goggles next to it. The apartment building was an old factory building converted to housing, so there was a great deal of brick and open space.

"Please hang your coats up," Garrett requested.

"Is that your helmet? It looks pretty small, but I like the spikes," chortled Skye as she pointed out a small helmet that had horns and spikes arranged in a row.

"Winston's helmet," called Phil from the kitchen.

"Winston is a biker?" Skye asked.

"Loves it," Phil assured her.

"How about I give you a few minutes with the boys, while I sit in the living room and pray to whatever God that might be listening that Agent Blake hasn't prepared a list of cutting remarks about my poor life choices and my even worse finances," Skye suggested.

"He's not that bad, really," Jemma insisted. "Just very introverted."

"He scares me," Skye whispered. "You didn't see the look on his face when his office was in flames."

"He didn't yell at me when I crippled him," Jemma retorted. "He was rather polite about it."

"Well, he's hoping…" Skye began and then stopped at the horrified look on Jemma's face. "Go talk to your boys."

* * *

Jemma Simmons walked into the kitchen and decided to be bold. She stood on her toes and kissed Garrett on his cheek (Why must he be so blasted tall?) and then buzzed Coulson (who was thankfully shorter) on his, which left both men flummoxed.

"Blue Skies is really nervous about dealing with Blake," Garrett finally announced.

"She believes that he dislikes her," Jemma admitted.

"Well, she's got a point. He doesn't… like her… but he doesn't… dislike… her. I mean, when his office went up, he rescued her as she had completely shut down. I mean, she worked for him…. Two days… so I don't think they really developed much of a rapport, in which time she's become in charge of his love life plus burned down his office." Phil offered. "Plus she's obviously nervous around him, which he notices."

"Then why is he helping her?" Jemma asked.

"She asked. You two are friendly, so…" Garrett shrugged her shoulders.

"He's helping her because of me?"

'Well, she asked him for help, so he would help her. However, your friendship with her certainly provided a bit of motivation, because he probably would have waited until he was on his feet instead of having a conference in his bedroom," was Phil's belief.

"No, he's bored out of his mind. This will be better for him than staring at the ceiling all day," John announced. Then with a very roguish smile, he added, "And with Blake busy being an accountant that means you get to spend quality time with Phil and me."

"You're horrid," teased Jemma. "I'm actually spending time with all three of you. Equal amounts of time, according to the schedule."

"I just love how she says **_Schedule_**. It sounds so very refine," emoted John in a very passable Received Pronunciation Accent. "So very civilized."

Phil looked at Simmons, then looked at John and he didn't even bother to hide his smile. Instead, he just smirked and pointed at the bakery boxes. "I'm assuming the big box with A.C. is mine?"

"A.C.?" John asked.

"Agent Coulson," he explained with a smile as he carefully opened the box. "Skye calls me that. Oh look, she got my favorites!"

"A.C.," John repeated with a leer. "Do I get a nice nickname on mine?"

"Oh look! It's has 'Blarney Boy' on it. Must be yours as the smallest box has a paw print and Winston scribbled on it," Phil announced. "The biggest box has 'Agent Blake' on it. Is she really planning on calling Felix, 'Agent Blake' forever and ever?"

"She's really quite scared of him," Jemma admitted. "I can't imagine why."

The two men looked at her, and they were trying not to smile. However, Phil started choking on his macaron and Garrett backslapped him hard which fortunately saved the nicest member of her harem from a premature death.

"Like I was," she finally admitted, before she decided to leave the two boys to their macarons that they were so obviously enamored with. "I'll go visit him as you two are horrid."

"Make sure you knock!" John catcalled.

* * *

Jemma Simmons knocked on his bedroom door and announced herself.

"Come in," Felix permitted.

"Hey," she said when she entered. It seemed that Felix had been anticipating Phil or John because he struggled to move himself into a sitting position once he realized it was her. That done, he struggled to beat down his hair with his hands.

"Don't get up," she insisted. "I'll come over and sit next to you. You'd be delighted to know that Skye has brought several pounds of macarons with her."

"My work suits aren't gonna fit," he tiredly protested. "I'll have to borrow one of John's turtlenecks when I'm back to work. Between ordering food whenever you come over, the fact that John can't cook and he can only manage takeout and now pounds upon pounds of macarons… while I'm flat on my back in bed…."

"You'll look adorable, even if you'll appear quite cross and scare everyone. You'll be needlessly fearing that you're chubby and hating that you're wearing a turtleneck," she teased. She leaned over him and was about to kiss him on his heavily stubbled cheek when he unexpectedly turned his head. Their lips touched and it turned from what she had planned on; a friendly buzz on the cheek to a gentle, open mouth kiss.

Unexpectedly, Jemma became hyper aware of everything. His rough stubble, how soft his lips were (that he was smiling when he kissed her! Smiling!) and that his taste was minty. The unexpected thrill she felt when he gently sucked on her lower lip, the fact that her heart was wildly pounding as Felix Blake' kiss was that of a very experienced kisser and how he was smoothly guiding her through this absolutely wonderful experience. And yes, there was tongue. Gentle and slow.

Not like Avery who had no skill, none what so ever she was delighted to realize, and who had tried to remove her tonsils with her tongue. Really, the entire experience with Avery had been such a turnoff that she had never bothered dating since then.

It was different with men, she was realizing. Men who held open doors, who treated her like a lady.

Avery was not at all like Blake, who she had originally believed to be acerbic and barbed. No instead, he was introspective and chary and he kissed like her teenage dreams come to life.

She pulled away first and his smiled faded. He moved his hand as though he wished to brush her hair from her eyes but instead he pulled his arm against his chest.

"I'm terribly… terribly… sorry," he whispered. His sincerity wounded her, more than just a little, but she struggled to smile.

"Don't be," she assured him.

"It won't happen again," he promised.

"Felix," she protested. She kept her tone calm though she wanted to pull her hair out in sheer utter frustration because he was such a splendid kisser. "Was I that bad a kisser?"

"No," he growled. "You were most assuredly were not. It's just that…"

He couldn't answer, couldn't voice whatever bothered him enough to cause him to emotionally retreat, but he'd tensed up, so stressed that he's literally shook. Instead of talking to him, she reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"I can't permit myself to open that door," he finally explained.

"What door?"

"Where I fool myself into thinking that I'm normal," he explained. "Where I permit myself certain thoughts and I forget how my unhinged mind works and spins and how it doesn't stop thinking."

She inched closer to him, and tilted her head.

"What thoughts?" she asked as she really had no clue.

He turned her way, gave her a very slow and utterly seductive smile and she blushed.

"I trust you," Jemma Simmons informed him.

"It's not that. It's just those thoughts could be… rather graphic and rather… explicit…. I would never ever do any of those things… but I've done a great deal of reading and the potential exists and I have to keep that part of me locked down because I don't want to be like that. I couldn't live like that. Not with you. Not with those thoughts. It's hard enough living with a mind that constantly wonders if I remembered to check page five thoroughly, but to have a mind that relentlessly focused on **_those_ **thoughts?"

She just looked at him, struggled to process their conversation and then she decided to give up because as John had succinctly explained, "Felix being Felix means Eeyore has arrived in the house and you've got to let Pooh Coulson deal with him". However, while she gave up, it was not done without a fight as he was in fact, a simply wonderful kisser.

"Did you ever have these thoughts with Nicolette?" she asked.

"No," he firmly stated. "Never."

"Did you ever have any urge to hurt Nicolette? Even after you two went your separate ways?" Jemma probed.

"Never, I loved her. I would never intentionally hurt her, even now," protested Felix.

"Felix, do you or do you not have frequent frickle frackle with John and Phil?"

"Define frequent," was his over analytical response. "I also need their signed approval for full disclosure of our relationship."

"And have you ever hurt them, when you furiously frickle frackled? In fact, I believe Phil accidentally hurt you…"

"Irish skin," he immediately protested as Felix had to protect Phil. Naturally.

"And you didn't even tell him. You didn't even strike back, or complain or anything, no, instead you said absolutely nothing because you were afraid he'd refuse to continue with your… understanding," Jemma stumbled as she couldn't find the right word to describe their odd relationship. "I'm not afraid of you, nor am I afraid of this supposed dark side of you. It hasn't made an appearance yet, and I rather doubt that it will. I do appreciate your concern, however I can handle you. John Garrett bought me a bowling ball, and I'm not afraid to use it. I might be able to deliberately aim it soon with sufficient practice."

And Felix Blake laughed.

"Go get Hacker Grrrl in here. I think fixing her finances would be easier than figuring you out."

* * *

"He's ready for you," Simmons informed Skye, who looked as though she was heading to the dentist.

"Do tears work on Agent Blake?" Skye hopefully asked. She had big fake tears in her eyes and a credible lip quiver was performed.

"No, I cry all the time and it doesn't faze Agent Blake at all," John Garrett inserted.

"Big tears," Phil quipped as he gestured 'big tears' with his hands. "And his face gets all blotchy. Agent Blake just rolls his eyes and tells him to cease and desist. He's such a hardass that when Garrett's looking blotchy that it doesn't affect him at all."

"I'm Irish!" Garrett protested. "I have fair skin."

"I thought you were Texan," retorted Phil.

"Austin by way of Galway," was Garrett's lightning fast response.

"They should take their act on the road," Skye helpfully informed Simmons.

"For the love of God, do not encourage them," a groaning Jemma insisted. "Unleashing them on the unsuspecting public. Now bring your paperwork down to Agent Blake and bring the Macarons with you as they may save your life."

Skye trudged down the hallway and Garrett gestured for Simmons and Coulson to follow him, so they were standing by Blake's bedroom wall. He took out a small device from a drawer and placed it on the wall.

"Hi, Agent Blake?" Skye's voice came through softly on the device. "Thank you for looking at my finances. They're a real mess, as you've guessed."

"Skye, I've done some investigating. What's your physical address? Your real physical address? Not the one you utilized for your HR records as that's a condemned building. If you lack suitable housing, you can get a room in the barracks," Blake informed her.

"I don't like living in the barracks, it's too close, too noisy, I don't fit in," Skye admitted.

"Where are you living?" Blake asked again. "Don't tell me you couch surf?"

"No, not at all," Skye insisted.

"Please do not tell me you are the transient that is living in that broken down 1983 GMC conversion van with the leaky oil pan that's in 4th subbasement in the garage?"

"No!"

Coulson pulled the device off the wall and turned towards Garrett. "Call Max's mother, see if she's looking for a renter. Skye can't live in a van in the garage."

"I didn't know," Jemma insisted while Phil nodded his head in easy agreement.

"Got it. I think she doesn't have anyone renting it," Garrett assured Phil. He pulled out his phone and dialed the phone. "Hola. Senora Lopez?" Long pause. "Yes, it's John, I promise to stop practicing my Spanish on you and yes, thank for you for the chicken enchiladas. No one makes green sauce like you. You made Felix muy feliz. "

Jemma looked at Phil who motioned for them to give John some privacy.

"Max was one of John's specialists. He died when Hydra put a bomb in his car. John's been in contact with his mother since then, and he helps her out if she needs it. She has an apartment that she rents and it might be good for Skye. Got offstreet parking so she can keep the van someplace, as I don't think that van is actually running right now? John's a good mechanic, so he can probably get it back on the road."

John was liberally spicing his conversation with a mixture of cajoling and flattery and horrid Spanglish. Phil smiled.

"We're watching **_Pacific Rim_**, so let's take a seat. Today, we're canceling the apocalypse," he informed her. "And we'll have Skye in real housing by next week. Promise."

* * *

Jemma sat in the middle of the sofa, with John on one side and Phil on the other. The movie was unintentionally funny as John and Phil commented incessantly throughout.

"Look! There's Nick!" when Stacker Pentecost first appeared in the movie, which was funny, but Simmons loudly protested when she and Fitz were compared to Geiszler and Gottlieb. Really, it wasn't funny, not at all!

Phil and John both insisted on pausing the film and recreating Penetcost's speech in the most Furiest way possible.

"Today, today… at the edge of our hope, at the end of our time, we've chosen not only to believe in ourselves but in each other. Today, there's not a man nor woman in here that shall stand alone. Not today. Today we face the monsters that are at our door and bring the fight to them! Today, we are cancelling the apocalypse!"

She giggled uncontrollably and refused to declare either man the victor, though John Garrett held the slightest edge over Phil because he reproduced Nick Fury's startling intensity.

They were still comparing characters in the movie to real-life characters in their lives when Skye walked out to the living room. She looked pale and she whimpered whenever John Garrett was too loud.

"Hey Blue Skies, you ok?" Garrett bellowed.

Skye looked startled and she clutched a ledger book tightly against her chest.

"My brain hurts, as he tried to explain basic accounting to me," she softly admitted. "I'm going home now, I'll see you on Monday."

"Do you have…" John began but stopped, as he couldn't confess that he knew that she was homeless. "A ride?"

"Taking the train," Skye stated.

"I'll go as I drove you here," Jemma decided. She gave each man a quick kiss on their cheek and promised that she'd see them. "Please tell Felix goodbye."

* * *

Felix Blake was surrounded by paperwork, some of which looked suspiciously like numbers that had been scribbled down on Chinese restaurants menus. To say he looked displeased was an understatement.

"I don't know if I can help her," he admitted. "This is just…an…insane…situation. What can we do for housing? She's living in a van."

"First of all, we need to stake out the van so it's secure," Garrett ordered. "I'll do it tonight. I can't do it now because she's heading there. Max's mother says Skye can have the apartment on Saturday. Last tenant did some damage so she needed to repair it."

"Ok," Phil decided. "Saturday morning, we move her."

"When are we planning on telling her?" Garrett asked.

"Saturday morning works for me," Phil offered. "Think you'll be on your feet then, Felix? Or at least crutches?"

"From your mouth to God's ears," Felix admitted. "That van? Can you do anything with it?"

"I'll take a look at it," John decided. "I'll get Fitz to help as he might be able to jury rig something so it will pass inspection."

"Ok, Operation Blue Skies is a go," Phil announced.

* * *

SATURDAY MORNING

Skye was sitting in her van, in her pjs, enjoying her fruit loops.

"Home sweet home," she sighed. "It's not as spectacular as Agent Blake's place, and I'd like to know how he could afford that on his salary, but you're mine. We've been together for so long, Vannie, and ain't nothing gonna separate us. Though I wish I could get you to run. One of these days, someone will notice that you haven't moved from this spot in weeks."

There was a loud bang on the back door of her van, and then someone knocked on it. She grabbed her essentials and decided to exit via the side door. She pushed it open to discover a stern, leather coat clad Agent Blake on crutches. Winston had sat next to him, and he wagged his docked tail.

She screeched, "AGENT BLAKE!" like he was a monster from her nightmares, slammed the door shut on him, and then ran towards the back door. After she opened it, she discovered John Garett.

"Phil's up on the driver's side door," John explained. "So, can we come in?"

"NO!" Skye protested as her van looked well… like a homeless person lived in it. "What are you doing?"

"We're moving you to a much nicer neighborhood," John Garrett explained.

"Has running water," offered Felix Blake who had crutched his way over to the door.

"We've got boxes," Phil stated.

"Need help packing any unmentionables?" Garrett asked. He never flinched when a glowering Blake crutched him and Phil slapped the back of his head.

"Garrett's also a decent mechanic. He'll take a look at your van and see if it can be salvaged," Felix explained. "However, perhaps you may want to change? Though I'm sure Coulson believes that your Captain America PJS are quite cute?"

* * *

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

Skye sat in her new apartment while her new landlord reviewed her lease, including such odd things such as two month's security, deposits, prepayment of rent and finally she shook her head.

"I don't have enough money to pay for security," she admitted.

"It's been paid, along with your first two month's rent."

Skye smiled and murmured that she'd have to thank Coulson for his assistance.

"It wasn't him," Mona Lopez informed her. "Mr. Blake put down the deposit. He also made sure you had some furniture such as the bed and the kitchen table."

They continued their discussion and then Mrs. Lopez left, leaving her alone in her brand new apartment. Skye walked about for a bit and she set her hula girl hula skirt swaying with a gentle touch. That done, Skye inspected her new place once more and then she picked up the phone.

"Agent Blake," he answered in his usual terse tone.

"Hi, Agent Blake, I just wanted to say thank you," she offered. "I'll pay you back, I promise."

"Don't, you don't have a pot to piss in," he protested. "There's no contract or any obligation, so you don't have to pay me back."

"But I need to do something," she protested. "I'd still be living in my van if wasn't for you."

"Phil and John helped. Thank them, but don't buy them any more macarons, as you can't afford it."

"Seriously, you paid my deposit and bought me furniture," Skye reminded him. "I need to repay you."

"How about, you don't lie to me?" Blake requested. "How about when I ask you if you're living in a van, you don't lie. Instead of creating some nonsensical story about you living in another abandoned building. If people are willing to assist you, it is a lot easier if you don't lie to them."

"I was embarrassed?" she offered.

He just sighed, and stated, "Goodnight, Skye. I'll see you on Monday. By the way, Kurt Cobain called, he wants his plaid back."

"What?" Skye not so wittily asked.

"You're working in an office. Try to dress professionally, so no sweats, no plaid flannel shirts. Simmons is taking you shopping tomorrow so I want you suitably attired on Monday."

She didn't have any money and certainly wasn't about to tell him that. Hearing her nonverbal reluctance, Blake sighed. "She's taking you to the thrift stores. Vintage is the new plaid, or so I've been told by Coulson who will be overseeing this mission as he and John are funding it. Good night, Skye."


	24. Welcome Back, Blake

SUNDAY EVENING

"I don't understand why your guys are helping me out," a subdued Skye confided to Jemma. "Did you ask them?"

"They did it on their own," Jemma explained. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Garrett and Fitz worked on my van, Agent Blake…"

"Felix…" Jemma inserted.

"Agent Blake got me into decent housing and I have a real bed with a comfy mattress and… and… a kitchen table with chairs… and… they're helping me..." Skye's lip trembled. "AC's helped me get…properly dressed so I don't embarrass Agent Blake… and… he bought me sheets for my bed…. And… they won't let me pay them back, and nobody's ever done anything for me without wanting something in exchange before. And I offered Garrett… and… and… he … refused to understand what I was offering, and I shouldn't have, because he's your guy and I don't do that shit to friends… but… I don't know how else to pay them back because they're men and I don't have any money because I'm broke five minutes after payday. And you and Fitz are my only friends and I'm scared I fucked it all up because everyone's being nice to me and nobody has before and I don't know how to act, because I don't want to be ungrateful, but they won't let me pay them back."

The lip trembling turned into a full bout of weeping as the younger woman threw her arms around Simmons and cried.

And Jemma Simmons realized that for the pre-Shield Skye, her usual currency had been her body.

* * *

Felix Blake gratefully sank on the couch and gingerly placed his lame leg up on the large ottoman. Phil carefully sat next to him, and ruffled Felix's hair.

"Stop," protested Felix.

Naturally, Phil didn't stop, instead he moved his hand lower, so he was rubbing Felix's neck. Carefully, and he was rewarded by Felix undulating like a cat being scratched.

"Tomorrow, want me to stop by after work? You can feed me, I'll get you drunk and I'll take advantage of you? Nothing too exotic," offered Phil. "Hand job, some kissing."

"Promise to hold me until the morning?" wryly teased Felix. "Or you could just continue rubbing my neck as that feels really good."

"Felix might still respect you in the morning," Garrett added as he handed both men a beer. "But I doubt it, as Coulson's a tart."

"You joining us?" Phil asked. "Room if you're interested and inclined."

"Tempting," Garrett admitted, after a long swig. "What do you say, Blake? Shall we cuddle?"

"Fuck cuddling. You two owe me as I had to listen to you two," Felix mocked protested. "You're both fucking loud. However, you two go have fun. I better pass because of my leg."

"What about Simmons?" Garrett asked.

"She hasn't expressed an interest in a Ménage de trois as far as I know," Phil quipped. "Let alone a Ménage de quatre."

"No, he's right. What about Simmons? We are supposed to be dating her… are we supposed to be celibate?" Felix asked. He leaned back into the chair, closing in on himself, internalizing and analyzing the current situation. Coulson continued to stroke Felix's neck as he hated when Blake withdrew into himself.

Garrett gracelessly collapsed into a recliner, sprawling one leg over the arm. All the while deliberately ignoring Felix's wince at the possible damage to his furniture, as even without Garrett's cybernetic implants, he was a big boy. Phil stopped rubbing Felix's neck and pulled away, as though he felt guilty about quasi cheating on Simmons.

"In our rush to save her from Ward and Sitwell, we didn't really think this out," protested Felix. "Now that we've rescued her, what the hell are we supposed to do for the next five months?"

"In fairness, we only had two hours to put a plan together, so it's acceptable that it's not your usual level of perfection," Garrett drawled. "However, I would recommend keeping you out of traction. Now while you planning that out, we've got another problem."

"Dare I ask?" Felix protested. "I think this problem is big enough."

Garrett shifted himself so he was sitting with both feet on the ground and he leaned towards Felix and Phil. In a very soft voice, he explained, "It's Blue Skies. She offered me a unique form of payment for fixing her van. Speaking of which, I should be able to get it to pass inspection by next weekend. I needed to put in a new carburetor and I need to find an alternator. One of the guys in the motor pool that owes me a solid or four, so I managed to get it towed into a bay so I could work on it. Fitz was pretty helpful also."

"Payment?" Phil asked. He looked at Garrett in confusion and then when he realized what Garrett meant, he futilely protested, "No, no, no. **_No_**. She's younger than Simmons."

"Phil!" Felix seemed a bit rattled. "Please tell me that when you went clothes shopping with her today, she will be dressed professionally tomorrow."

Phil looked confused.

"Felix is asking if she'll be flashing her…" Garrett began.

"No, I told her to put those shirts back," Phil Coulson assured both men. He had taken a paternal interest in Skye as he had been the one to locate the hacker and bring her into SHIELD. That meant any clothes that he had deemed as showing too much skin had been placed in the pile of "AC's not paying for THAT, young lady. You're working for SHIELD, not a strip club."

"Thank you. Claire used to flash me constantly in her spiteful attempts at flustering me. What did you do?" Felix asked.

"What I normally do. I pretended I was too stupid to realize what she was saying. It's my modus operandi that's worked so well over the years," John admitted with an easy grin. "She pushed the issue so finally I had a little conversation with her. That the three of us weren't expecting sex in payment for helping her out and that if anyone tried that on her at the company, she was to let me know, so I'd break their legs. And then I'd cut off their penis, wrap it, complete with a bow and hand it to her."

"Speaking of which, Ward is sniffing around her," Phil advised.

The three men groaned and even Winston looked displeased.

"I warned her about him. I was his SO and there's always been something off about him. I mean, his old headmaster was a friend of mine, so I took him as a favor, but he's off," Garrett admitted. "I don't how Sitwell can deal with him, unless he's being ordered to do so."

"Winston hates him," Felix added.

"Good enough for me. So, we've got issues with Simmons and her unknown expectations on our sex lives, but it's too late for some of us if she was anticipating that we'd be chaste and true. We've got Skye who thinks we want sex because we're helping her out because … why are we helping her out again?" Garrett asked. "When did we adopt her like she's a stray cat? Why the hell is all our problems due to sex? We're in our fifties? Sex is a young man's problem… until it becomes an old man's problem."

"Get a script for the little blue pills if you're having problems. However, let's blame Phil for the Skye issue, he brought her into the fold," Felix offered. Wisely, Phil said nothing while Felix requested that he talk to the Hacker and make her stop.

"Time for bed," Phil decided as it was time for a quick exit.

"Just sleep over," Garrett suggested. "You've got work clothes here. Blake will make waffles in the morning."

"I will?" Blake asked.

"Yes, Apple, Cheddar and Prosciutto Waffles. I picked up what you needed and even grated the cheese already," John confessed. "Besides you owe me, Blake. After I took two weeks off…"

"You were **_suspended_**," Felix inserted.

"Two weeks off…" John merrily continued as though Felix hadn't interrupted.

"SUSPENDED for punching two fellow agents," Felix inserted.

"To care of my wounded, bed bound pookie bear."

Phil mouthed, "Pookie Bear" and didn't bother to hide his grin. "More like Eeyore."

"I'm heading to bed," growled Felix. "And for the record, Christopher Robin Coulson, Eeyore was the only sane one in forest, as Garrett… sorry Tigger… had bounced his brains out long ago."

* * *

Being considerate, and naturally, they would deny it with their dying breaths, they let him get ready for bed first. He positioned himself in the middle with assorted pillows, so they'd know he wouldn't mind a cuddle as sleeping on the edge meant that he was offering to be a cuddler, opposed to a cuddlee, turned off the light (as Phil couldn't sleep with the light on, and since they were being considerate, he could also, though he preferred at least some sort of light when he slept as when he woke up in pitch darkness, he would have to remind himself… in bed…not under a building).

He couldn't fall asleep.

His mind was racing, racing, racing, because he was thinking about Simmons and fearing her sweet smile. She'd come between him and his friends, pick Phil (naturally as he was the sane one, the stable one, the one that would be a good provider and treat her like gold and just fucking worship the ground she tread upon) leaving him with Garrett and between the two of them, manic, overprotective Garrett who would cosset and suffocate the neurotic, obsessive Blake because he cared too much; they'd spin off in their little solar system of self-destructive behavior, like lemmings going over a cliff, because the stable one would be gone and he should hate Phil but he couldn't, and he couldn't blame Garrett for being Garrett and for his need to protect, but like hell, he could blame himself for being himself because he was the only one that he could fix his fragility in himself and he needed to prepare himself for the slow, inevitable slide into madness but he'd fight and claw his way like he did every single day.

And God help him, if Skye decided to flash her tits at him, because he'd freak because he knew she was scared of him and he didn't know fucking why as he hadn't done anything to her and all he had done was try to fix out her credit because she had stupidly paid bail for her ex and once Miles had absconded, she had maxed out her credit cards (And gotten more) to pay for the rat because he had been released on recognizance and Felix had already put his information into the system, so if he did anything, he'd be flagged and brought to justice. And he needed to get her to a bank so they could consolidate her loans into something manageable and he'd have to cosign it (but done circumspectly and carefully so she kept her pride as he had his pride ripped from him, and once you lost that, it was like a lover scorned, and would never came back until you crawled through mud and shit) because his cosigning was the only way she could get a consolidation loan as she had the worst credit he had ever seen (Because she had been young, in love and just so blasted naïve about what scum Miles had been that he had the urge to shake her and yell at her, but he'd leave that to Phil as he had seemed to have become her de facto father figure and GOD! He hoped that Skye wasn't planning on putting Phil in a horizontal position because that reeked of incest.) And he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Skye had thought she needed to bed them to pay them for helping her, because really, they were decent guys, widespread rumors of their insanity to the contrary, and she had always been decent to them (though terrified) and that was a good enough reason to help her as she was nothing more than a kid who was completely over her head and why the hell did she think she needed to spread her legs? And what did that say about him, because he wasn't interested, AT ALL, but the slightest thoughts of sex and Simmons emotionally paralyzed him?

And Claire had emailed him, a haughty long-winded tirade about how he gotten her sent to the Containment Zone, that he needed to get her back as his assistant as God only knew how he couldn't function without someone to babysit him and his all neurosis and he had gotten angry, fucking furious about that after all he had done for her that she still insisted on acting like he owed her, so he had written her back, carbon copied Jasper Sitwell as her new manager and had informed her that since she had had quit, she was no longer his responsibility as he had a new assistant who was actually working out far better than Claire ever had because she was able to spell and she could type 120 words per minute without errors, and had made the best cup of coffee he had ever had in his life (OK, he lied) and he thanked her for her assistance but it was no longer required. And he had added a PS in which he had informed Jasper Sitwell that he believed Claire had an inflated sense of self-worth and entitlement as she believed that she was the only one capable of managing Bennie the Brain, and that he wished him the best of luck of handling her because she was no longer his responsibility and to advise Claire that Benny was flourishing without her and that his department heads had even commented on Benny's increasing stability. (And the 'Atta Boy' from Timmy Dugan, Unlikely Therapist for Damaged Head Cases like Felix, for that email had just been the icing on the cake because Timmy had loathed Claire from Day 1).

Tomorrow he have to return to work and deal with crutches and the white lie that they had created, in which his injury had been caused by a freak accident as opposed to the Bowling Ball Blitzkreig and he'd have to go back to pretending that he loathed Coulson as Fury's Special Snowflake because it was easier for Phil. And Timmy didn't understand why the three of them kept their relationship under the covers when they met with him, so to speak as he had willingly had informed Felix about him, Gabe, Jim, Jacques and the rest as apparently in war time, it was really a don't ask, don't tell because what happened in the Hydra camp had kept them bonded as brothers.

An hour or so later, Phil came in, slid behind his back and placed one arm around him. Garrett took the front side and placed his arm over Phil's arm. And they even turned the light on for him.

"Turn your mind off," Phil whispered.

"Can't," he protested. "Whirling like a dervish."

"We need to distract him," John teased. "Any ideas, Phil?"

"I have an idea, but we have to be very careful," Phil agreed.

There was no doubt in his damaged mind that Simmons had a rather carnal contemplation of the three of them together, (like some sort of really hardcore gay porno video where the guys were muscular and packed eighteen inches and practiced yoga all fucking day) but she'd be disappointed. Soft (Compared to their hard body primes of their twenties), scarred bodies, some not so standard issues parts and a whole lot of kissing and wandering hands.

Later on, he drifted off to sleep, loose-limbed and blissful, with an equally sated Phil who insisted on nuzzling his neck. The thirty seven voices in his head were at last silenced, sprawled in their mental bed (The few that were still awake were smoking cigarettes and drinking beers though one of the voices he'd swear was smoking weed as he was giggling inanely and wanted munchies but Felix was not getting out of bed, even for chips), when Garrett drawled, "Last one up has to throw the sheets in the hamper."

Phil's laugh was warm against his neck and an indignant Garrett protested, "What?"

"Istanbul," Blake tersely explained.

"Six weeks in a safe house," Phil inserted.

"Six weeks, four days, three hours and two minutes," Blake corrected.

"And you never changed the sheets," Phil and Blake exclaimed together while Garrett sputtered a protest.

"What happened to our little philistine?" Phil asked. "Did Blake finally house train you?"

"Copious use of rolled up newspaper, applied to his nose. John does dishes also," was Blake's proud comment. "Vacuums and does laundry. I refuse to let him iron."

"I wear turtlenecks so I don't have to iron," John teased.

"You wear turtlenecks because of these," was Phil's reminder, even as he gently caressed Garrett's scars from the third degree burns (and Blake can still remember seeing an unconscious Garrett in the burn unit, how he and Phil took turns and watched by the bedside as there was no one else because Garrett's team was dead, and Phil touched the scar oh so carefully because he needed to be) while Blake touched the electrical implant which controlled Garrett's chronic pain so he could actually function.

"Yeah, that too," John softly admitted.

And while Jemma Simmons might come between them, she'll never be able to completely eradicate their bond. Or so Felix Blake hoped; because the alternative was unlivable.

* * *

"Do I look alright?" Skye asked Jemma Simmons. She was wearing a smart pant set and a brightly colored dress shirt.

"Unbutton the top, you look uncomfortable," Fitz inserted. He was juggling supplies for the 'Welcome Back to Work, Blake' Surprise party which had required him to get up early. EARLY.

"AC said no skin," she reminded Fitz.

"No boobs is what he meant, so third button is fine," Fitz stated. "He doesn't want you displaying them like they are about to burst out of their restraints and attack New York as Blake won't get any work done."

"FITZ!" Shrieked Simmons. "He's not like that? They're all gentlemen."

"You sure?" Skye asked. "Third button?"

Fitz nodded, and Skye hesitantly unbuttoned the first, second and yes, third button. "Oh thank GOD! I can breathe now."

"Yes, Skye, I'm sure, it's ok. And Simmons, you didn't see their faces when you wore that bandage sweater. Their jaws dropped. They're **_men_**, Simmons. Perhaps, very well behaved men, but they're men."

"Not discussing," Simmons primly announced. "Let's set up the office."

* * *

They descended upon his freshly redone office and decided to open a window as it did smell of paint. (Better than burnt coffee). There was a new coffee machine that Coulson and Garrett had bought and Skye carefully and deliberately followed the explicit directions (complete with diagrams) that she had been given. Everything tripled checked, she then carefully and with true fear pressed the "ON" Button. There was a happy whirl of the blender and then in a little bit, there was a smell of ambrosia in the air. Coffee had been MADE!

She even remembered to put the pot on, so it was filling up.

Meanwhile, Simmons had placed a large dog pillow with a plaid, flannel cover in the spot where Winston always rested next to Felix's feet. Fitz set up the various accouterments needed for coffee, plus a spread of bagels, Danishes and whatever else when they realized that they weren't alone. No, a tall female with red streaks in her hair arrived, followed by two other females. One was a serious looking expressionless female, whose tag said "AGENT MELINDA MAY" and Assistant Director Maria Hill, who was about to lay claim on an Apple Danish when the tall female snapped, "I know it's free food, Maria. However, can't you wait until Blake arrives?"

"This isn't the Hub, you're not in charge here, Hand," Maria retorted. However, she moved away from the Danish.

Jasper Sitwell then arrived, and he put a card on Felix's desk that already had several cards with his name on it. "Hello," he easily greeted the other agents.

"How's the Containment Zone, Sitwell?" May asked.

"Hot, stinking, radioactive. I deeply appreciate being recalled back to humanity," Sitwell admitted.

"Misbehave again, I'll keep you there permanently," Hand announced and Sitwell nodded his understanding.

Simmons looked at Fitz and mouthed, "Who invited them?"

More arrivals, (and WHO had invited them? As Skye was worried that there would be insufficient Danishes to feed them all as Hill kept eyeing the Danishes with a predatory look) mainly senior agents, a few analysts and then Timmy the Therapist arrived, dragging an older lady with him. It took Simmons a moment to realize that it was Mimi Roberts from the cafeteria. There was also a tall muscular dark skinned agent standing behind Timmy and he seemed amused.

"I mentioned to Mrs. Roberts that Felix was due back today and she was delighted. So I took it upon myself to invite her to the party and she made a crumb cake, cinnamon-pecan buns and a few other delicacies, as I wasn't sure if we'd have enough food," Dugan announced in a low roar. "He changed her flat for her one night."

"In the pouring rain when I was at the store," she murmured, as well, as a low level agent, even one with advanced culinary skills (e.g. knife) she was quite terrified of the crew by which she was surrounded which earned her Skye's sympathies. "I even made some biscuits for Winston."

"Antoine Triplett. Gabe's grandson," Timmy barked as he introduced the agent behind him. "Simmons, hope you don't mind. Invited a few people to this. Plus I brought tea, for those of us that refuse to drink coffee."

Drs. Streiten and Foster arrived next, and Foster handed out reminders to those agents (all the Level 7s and above currently present) that were overdue on their physicals causing a great deal of protestations.

"I think we should have held this in a bigger office," growled the next arrival, which was Director Fury. "So seriously, what the fuck happened to Blake? I've got no details on how he dislocated his hip?"

"Bike accident," Sitwell quickly answered.

"Felix had a motorcycle accident? When he did not report it to his insurance company and as far as I can tell, his bike is still sitting in the parking garage without a scratch on it. I'm a nosy bastard," admitted Nick Fury. "Doctors? I'm his boss after all."

Foster and Streiten looked at each and then Timmy Dugan jumped in.

"Let it go, Nicky," Dum Dum announced.

"Don't call me Nicky. I know you were besties with my old man, but we've been through this. Nick, Fury, even Director Fury, but not Nicky," barked Fury.

"Ok, Nicky," Timmy repeated. Then to the crowd of amused agents, "He's so like his old man. Did I ever tell you about how Senior and I took out a Hydra base with a toothbrush..."

"My God, that's Garrett in forty years," hissed Skye to Simmons. "You know I'm right!"

"Ah, Sirs?" Triplett interrupted. "I believe that this is supposed to be a surprise?"

"Yes," Skye agreed, "We were hoping to surprise him".

"Then perhaps, you two shouldn't yell at each other because they're probably hearing you three floors down, besides shaking the building. It may ruin the surprise?" Trip asked.

"Smart agent, takes after Gabe," whispered Tim. "So I think this is it for the total guests? Mrs. Roberts? Why don't you take a seat?"

"May I?" Mrs. Roberts asked, who still looked very uncomfortable with the sheer abundance of senior agents in the small office. "I have a bit of problem with my sciatica."

* * *

The boys overslept, barely having time for a quick shower, a shave and to find suitable clothing, before they piled into Garrett's car.

"Is this your shirt I'm wearing?" A concerned Felix asked Phil even while he picked at his shirt. "I usually don't wear striped dress shirts."

"Might be? Least it's muted so it doesn't clash with your tie. Am I wearing your tie?" Phil questioned.

"Let me look," Blake requested. He flipped the tie over, examined the label and checked the pattern. "No, I have something similar."

"For the love of God, boys. How many times do I have to tell you that putting your initials in your clothing would make the morning after so much easier? It's pretty obvious you're doing the walk of shame when you're wearing each other's clothes," catcalled Garrett from the front seat. A happy Winston, delighted as he was returning back to work and the widespread adoration of all the various secretarial staff, woofed an agreement.

"Shut up, some of us wear more than turtlenecks," snapped Phil. "Speaking of which, it's John's birthday in a few weeks. I suppose we could try something new for a gift; what about Turtlenecks, Felix?"

"Perhaps a couple with short sleeves," Felix offered, but he turned serious. "Coffee? I need coffee. Can we stop on the way? I checked the alarm five times before I went to bed. What happened?"

"No idea," Phil admitted though he knew that Garrett had turned off the alarm so that they'd be late to work as they were both involved in the 'Welcome Back Blake' party that Skye had decided to organize.

"We can grab some in the cafeteria. You know Mrs. Roberts like you," offered Garrett. "She always slips you a free Danish."

"I just changed her tire in the middle of a monsoon," Blake admitted.

"Please, your rippling biceps as you jacked her tire," Garrett explained. "The way your suit was plastered against your frame, due to the drenching rain. The thinness of your dress shirt with the opened collar, displaying everything, as you had removed your tie so not to get it caught into the jack. Good God, man, you do know what you're her screensaver on her cell phone?"

"Can I beat him to death with my crutch?" a flummoxed Felix asked Coulson. "Please?"

"Not recommended while he's driving," Coulson dryly asserted.

"Pity," Felix sighed.

* * *

"No coffee," growled Felix as he ferociously crutched his way to his office. "I have to deal with Phil's Hacker without any coffee onboard. I can't believe the cafeteria was closed and we couldn't get a cup of coffee."

"I'm sure if anything …. Unexpected occurs… you'll be cleared after a full review," Coulson offered.

"I don't know what else could go wrong, I'm wearing your shirt, a striped shirt. I don't have any coffee in my system," protested Felix. "Seriously, what else could go wrong?"

"I think we better escort him to his office so there are no victims of friendly fire," Garrett quipped.

Naturally, they were about twenty feet from his office when the psycho ex, Nicolette, arrived. She was wearing something quite tight and short that showed off her legs and her boobs which meant that she wanted something from Felix. "Felix…." She breathily announced.

"Oh fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck," Garrett whispered to Coulson. "If he ends up back in her bed tonight, we're calling Timmy and doing an intervention. Sock and soap, if you know what I mean."

Coulson nodded, as interactions between Nicolette and Felix usually ended up the same self-destructive way, with Felix in her bed.

"I'm having problems with the Mustang," she began.

"And?" Felix asked. He was juggling his crutches while he opened the door to his office. He was so focused on Nicolette that he failed to see the seventeen people in his office when the door finally opened. "What's the problem with the Mustang?"

"It slips out of gear and it smells like it's burning," she explained. "Felix, what's the problem?"

"You've ruined the clutch, you have to get it fixed," Felix tersely explained. "You need to take it to the dealer."

"Felix, any idea how much that will cost? You'll pay for it, right?" Nicolette simpered. She didn't see the crowd of fascinated onlookers as she leaned against the door and gave Felix quite the show.

"No, because I told you to get an automatic as you ride the clutch. I'm not paying for the repairs, Nikki."

"Come on, Felix. You'll know you'll pay for it, you always pay for the repairs on the Mustang," she cooed. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"Nikki, get the fuck out of my office. Get the fuck out of my life. The free gravy train has ended, finally. I should have cut you off when you walked out. So hock the ring, get a second job, cut back on your shoe fetish, but I'm not paying for your clutch. Now get the fuck out of my office as I have work to do," Blake growled.

"Felix, what's gotten into you?" Nikki pouted, and yes, she stamped her foot.

"I'm dating a really nice girl who's absolutely fucking amazing. She's fucking brilliant, and she's pretty and she's the complete and utter opposite of you. I feel like I've finally gotten off the crazy train. You know how you always told me that I was crazy? You were the one that fucking drove me insane with your neediness and your clinging."

She tried to slap him and he grabbed her hand before the blow landed.

"You ever try to do that to me again, I'm going to HR and I will get your ass fucking fired. Now get the fuck out of my office," he enunciated. "Bye, Nikki. Get some pride, stand on your own feet. Get a fucking degree or three. Men find that very attractive."

She stormed out and Blake turned. His face froze when he realized that he had just given quite the show to most of the senior agents of SHIELD.

However, Timmy was smiling in approval, "Well done, lad. Well fucking done."

Skye having missed the altercation as she was shortest person in the room, decided it was time for tunes.

Da, da, daa daaaaa dummmm…. The familiar song filled the room and Felix Blake rolled his eyes.

"Welcome back," sang John Sebastian. "Yeah, we tease him a lot 'cause we've got him on the spot, welcome back, Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back."

"Fucking hate you both," Felix Blake whispered to Coulson and Garrett. "Fucking hate you both."

Skye, unaware of everything that had just occurred, walked over to Felix, carefully holding a hot cup of coffee. "I made coffee for you," she said proudly. "Really good coffee."

"Thank you," Felix Blake said.


	25. Conversation over Ice Cream

After everyone had left his office, leaving him, his new assistant and Winston alone, Felix Blake attempted to smile, to be… how did his therapist say it, to be seen as open and approachable, as opposed to being seen as closed off and reclusive. His earnest endeavor at being… friendly… failed as Skye stepped back one foot and bumped into her chair.

Why did he even bother? Seriously, why?

Fortunately, Winston nudged his hand, and reassured Blake that Winston loved Blake best of everyone in the entire universe. And if Blake would give a good rub to his ears, Winston would love him even more.

"I understand that you're responsible for the 'Welcome Back, Blake' party. Thank you, it was… unexpected," he admitted. (And embarrassing as he had told off Nicolette in front of everyone). "Now that I'm back, and you've successfully proven that you can make coffee without need for the fire department being utilized, we can move on to other important job skills."

"Analyzing data?" Skye asked. "I watched when we worked together…. Well, the two days we worked together before you got hurt and I want to learn that data array you utilized, as that was an interesting way of tickling the data."

"Sorry, no data arrays for you. Yet. Your focus is on actually getting your driver's license," he stated. "We need to get real legal identification on you, with your real name, so we can finish fixing your credit."

"But I have my driver's license!" Skye stated proudly as she pulled it from her wallet. She displayed it for him to review. "See?"

He didn't even look at it. It was fake, fake, fake.

"It's a fake," Blake reminded her. "I've unhacked your hack, so Mary Sue, that license is no longer valid in any of the fifty states, Puerto Rico, Canada, Mexico and most of South America. Really, reassigning Sister Mary Agnes of the Perpetual Agony's license number for your personal use? Do you have any idea what those four speeding tickets did to that poor nun's insurance rates?"

"Let me guess, you went to Catholic school?" She asked. "You put a dash in your Z's and your 7's. And the way you knot your tie is a dead giveaway."

"Altar boy," he admitted.

She looked up at him, and gifted him with the big Bambi eyes.

"Winston gives me the same look when he wants a biscuit. Do you want one?" he asked. Winston woofed his disapproval as Mrs. Roberts had made the biscuits just for him. "For the rest of the day, you will sit quietly and familiarize yourself with requirements necessary to obtain the privilege of driving in New York State. Tomorrow, I will take you to the Motor Vehicle Office and then the bank during our lunch hour."

"Is that a date, Agent Blake?" she cooed. "Will you be buying me lunch?"

He blinked at her, once, twice, three times and said nothing. Was she serious? Was he supposed to buy her lunch? He put two months' deposit down on an apartment for her because living in a van had disturbed his sensibilities (Plus it had flared up a whole mental chorus of 'If she gets killed or mugged because she's living in the van, it will be ALL YOUR FAULT, BLAKE. ALL YOUR FAULT! Because you could help her and you didn't do it!') Or was she joking? If it was Phil or John, they would have winked or done something so he'd know. However, Mary Sue of the multiple fake ids was not so forthcoming.

"Sitting down and reading!" She loudly announced.

If Skye had looked up, she would have witnessed her very own miracle. Felix Blake cracked a slight smile. He limped over to his desk, reviewed the various get-well cards (including one from Sitwell that he'd need inspected by the lab to confirm that there were no contact poisons on it) and then he attacked.

"And Mary Sue? I'll be giving you pop questions during the day. For example, there is a van, very similar to yours. The turn and brake signals have failed, no doubt because the driver, who is driving illegally and without insurance, hasn't gotten it legally inspected in five years as she's been busy printing off fake inspection stickers."

Skye looked horrified that he had managed to find out that information on her.

"My God, you're good," she admitted.

"That's why I'm in data analysis. Now, however, the driver holds her hand like this," he extended his hand upward. "What is she signifying?"

"Sweet Jesus, please don't let that be Agent Blake behind me? As he'll pull me out of the car and throw me on the hood if he catches me driving illegally?" She widely smiled at him.

He blinked at her and her cocksure, snarky attitude Skye personality shriveled into Mary Sue who had thoroughly traumatized by nuns.

"I think this proves that you need to sit down and study," he stated.

* * *

Jemma Simmons walked back to her office after the successful party, but she was stopped by John Garrett. He carefully blocked Fitz and leaned to her ear, "We need to talk. How about a bike ride and some ice cream? Seven?"

"Is that a date?" she asked.

"No, Blake's got a meeting with Tim as it's Monday and Phil's got plans. I want to talk to you in private. According to the Sacred Schedule of Slowly Seducing Simmons, there are no solo dates for a few more months."

"Please don't tell me that the real name of the calendar," she pleaded.

"NO, I'm just in the mood to alliterate today," he explained with a broad smile.

"It is," he admitted. "I want to hash something out with you and it would be easier if it was just the two of us."

* * *

MONDAY NIGHT

"Heading out for a nice long bike ride, call me if you need me," Garrett announced. "I'll probably be home after you're done with Tim."

Felix nodded, but then he growled as he explored the refrigerator. "Did you drink all the beer?"

"There's some behind the arugula," Garrett reminded him. "You know how Phil is when he buys groceries. He gets all this exotic stuff that he puts here and there in the fridge and he hides the essentials, cheese, beer, milk and eggs."

"I'll try not to dislocate my hip again so I can grocery shop," sniped Felix. "Or perhaps you can learn to follow a grocery list and not to deviate from it. Seriously, what were you thinking, three cases of Dr. Pepper?"

"I'm from Texas, it's a national drink," protested Garrett. "It was on sale."

"Texas is not a nation," was Felix's retort.

* * *

John Garrett knocked on the door, and Jemma opened the door. She was wearing her new gear and an approving Garrett smiled.

"It's nice night, so do you mind heading to Connecticut?"

"For ice cream?" she repeated as it seemed to be an awfully long ride for ice cream. "We're heading to Connecticut?"

"I want to take a ride, maybe break the speed limit a few times," he admitted. He handed her an ear piece, "If you wear this, we can chat."

She agreed, and she found it easier to get onto Garrett's bike than she had anticipated, then she realized it wasn't Garrett's bike as the seat color was different, as was the very 'fit' of it. "Did you borrow Felix's bike?" she asked.

"He asked me to take his Jeep and his bike out for a spin while he can't use them. He can't drive standard for a bit and he certainly can't hop on his bike," Garrett explained.

"And as a true friend, you wanted to ensure that his transportation remained in workable condition for when he's able to use them again. That's a true friend for you," Jemma quipped.

John Garrett turned and made a horrid face at her.

"_Please_. I've been dying to try this bad boy out. I promised him no scratches, no dings, no dents and no speeding tickets," Garrett informed her. "Which means, I can't get caught breaking the speed limit. You ready to ride?"

"Yes," she assured him.

He put on his helmet and they were off. She was more comfortable with riding pillion, and he was, his protestations to the contrary, a very serious, very safe driver. He gave her plenty of warning before he turned, before he braked and before he hit the accelerator. She learned how to lean into the turn, and more importantly, how not to, and she found the experience absolutely exhilarating. At last, she understood why John and Felix had bikes.

"We're thinking if you like riding, you should take a Motorcycle Safety Fundamentals course," John informed her while they were riding down the highway. "You can take it online."

"Do you all want me to take it? Or just Felix," she asked.

"All of us, actually. Including Winston as he worries so," John assured her. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

He pulled into the ice cream shop and it was surprisingly busy. There was a private table in the back that had a reserved sign on it, and he gestured toward it.

"That's our spot," he explained. She looked at him as she was puzzled.

"I wanted to talk to you in private, but not so private that you can make a scene," he explained. "I've got the keys and you've got a long walk back home if you storm off."

The waiter showed up and John ordered an Earthquake Sunday, after asking Jemma what flavors ice cream she liked best. "Throw in a Dr. Pepper and what do you want to drink?" John asked even as he pulled out his wallet to pay.

"You're making me nervous," she admitted after she ordered and the waiter flitted off.

"Don't be," he stated. "Did Skye mentioned anything to you about how… appreciative… she was about me working on the van?"

He looked at her and said nothing more. He was supporting his head on his hand and he looked serious.

"Is this about the van?" Jemma asked. "Or how she wanted to thank you?"

"Second," he slowly admitted. "She told you?"

"Yes," was her succinct answer.

"And?" he prompted. "What did she tell you?"

"That she doesn't possess any experience with people being nice to her and that she had offered you payment, a rather personal payment and you pretended not to understand what she was proposing. She was quite upset over it, because we're friends, but she didn't know how else to pay you back because… she's not used to having people helping her out without expecting a specific type of compensation."

John Garrett exhaled slowly and his shoulders slumped in relief.

"You were nervous about my reaction?" Simmons asked. "I trust you both."

"I'm an asshole, but I don't do shit like that," John informed her. "She's gotten that shit out of her head, right? I don't have to worry about her stripping while Felix is trapped in his office? Or her trying something with Phil? The objective was to get her into a safe place to live, not for us to get laid."

"No," Jemma stated. "I think she still believes that she needs to pay you three back, but I'm pretty comfortable that she's not repeating the offer. I think her thanks might be limited to baking you a cake."

"Do you think it will create any awkwardness between…?" He stopped.

"Between you two? No," she said.

"No, it will be awkward between Blue Sky and me for a bit, but I'll pretend that I'm clueless, and it'll pass. I was more worried about us, because it's awkward enough with us," he said.

She just looked at him, and he quirked a smile.

"What? Do you think Phil is the heartfelt one?"

"You're just a man of many surprises," she admitted.

"Good," John agreed. He pulled back and smiled in pure childish delight at the waiter who brought over a literal mountain of ice cream.

"What is that monstrosity?" Jemma asked, when the waiter dropped it with a mighty thud on the table.

"Eights scoops of ice cream and it's topped with chocolate fudge, hot fudge, butterscotch, hot caramel, strawberry, pineapple jam, marshmallow, mixed almonds, whipped cream and cherries," John explained as he handed her a spoon.

"Oh my good God," she stated.

"Live a little," he insisted. "This is something I do once, twice, three times a year."

They worked on it for a bit in silence, and then Garrett spoke again. "I have another matter to discuss with you. This is something that I thought I should be the one to discuss with you, as well, Phil is too much of a gentleman and Felix would be mortified to have this conversation with you."

Simmons swallowed her ice cream and she blushed as she looked at John.

"Do you think I don't know?" Simmons softly asked.

"To be clear, what do you think that I hope you don't know?"

"That my favorite trio of Kinsey Twos aren't chaste," she informed him.

"Do you expect that we should be?" he asked.

"No," she insisted.

"Does the thought make you uncomfortable?" John continued. "I want to know, and I hope you'll be honest."

She focused on her ice cream, wanting to pull her thoughts together and John Garrett watched her for a very long time.

"It does, doesn't it? I'll tell them, and we'll stop," he gently assured her. "Just tell me what disturbs you? It's not the physical act, because you're friendly with Fitz, and I know you tried to set him up with Trip today. I'll work on Trip, too as I think they'd be a cute couple. Now tell me, what's bothering you, so I can explain your discomfort with the boys, as you know Blake will worry and Phil will fuss."

"It's just…. This entire farce is supposed to end up with me with one of you. That there will be babies and more babies in my future," Jemma softly admitted.

"Hey. We don't think of you as breeding stock, we see you as an absolutely brilliant scientist who is far smarter than we are. If after six months you decide none of us are the right guy, it will be fine with us. We'll thank you for the fun memories, the surgical scars and the laughs," Garrett was radiating his unique mixture of intensity and bemused sincerity. "We're dating, getting to know each other, and we'll see where it goes."

"It's just, I know you three are 'together'," she explained as she stressed the word. "When I dated… he cheated on me with a lot of people… especially as I wouldn't…put out… until I felt comfortable."

"Do you feel that we're… cheating… on you?" he asked. Garrett was almost Coulson sincere, she realized.

"No…. yes… no… I feel like I'm the other woman," she explained. "You three have got this relationship, it seems to work very well for you, and here I am, barging in, and disrupting everything and maiming and scarring you in the process."

John Garrett looked at her and then put his head in his hands. "Dear God, I wish Phil was here. He's the sensitive one, I'm just the plucky, comic relief. However, thank you God, for not having Blake here as he'd be in the fetal position."

He didn't say anything more for a bit, and then he put his hand on hers.

"Don't sell yourself short. Our odd little relationship, really, is a tourniquet of codependency for three old men who were quite happy to retreat into themselves, lick their war wounds and hide. You came into our lives, blazing, and vivacious, and honestly, utterly bodacious, and bowled the three of us over ass over tit."

"I'll never live that down," she moaned. "Never!"

"Nope!" Garrett joyfully assured her. "Whether you like it or not, you, simply by being you, has seriously affected our odd little relationship. Felix is talking more, he's actively engaging with other people, not just you, but Fitz and that crazy Blue Skies. Phil feels more human that he has since they brought him back."

"And what about you?" She asked.

"I have more people I need to protect," he admitted. "But I can rest easier at night knowing that if anything happens to me, if my cybernetic parts fail, Phil and Felix will have people that will care for them."

There was a glimmer in his eyes and Simmons leaned towards him, "John, are your parts failing?"

He didn't answer, instead he focused on the melting ice cream, which was answer enough.


	26. The Politics of Frickle Frackle

AN - thank you to LachesisGrimm

* * *

John Garrett continued to eat a literal mountain of ice cream and Jemma tried again to broach the painful subject. Her voice was quite soft when she asked, "Do they know?"

They being Phil and Felix, naturally.

He nodded and put down his spoon. "They even know how to jumpstart me." Coquettish smile, matched with mischievous, lively blue eyes that danced and sparkled with true amusement. (How could eyes that showed so much life belong to a man who was dying?) "My hardware, not my…"

Fortunately, she had a spoonful of ice cream ready and she placed it in his mouth. He sucked it with almost pornographic relish, and with she shook her head. When he was done, after an obscenely long time, he took a clean spoon, scooped up some ice cream with assorted toppings and dutifully presented it to her. She ate it daintily and he smiled.

"Extra spoons, I have to remember to tip him." He laughed even as he served her another spoonful. "Come now, life's short. Dessert first."

They ate in the silence for a bit, and then he pounced, "So what else is bothering you?"

"Everything's fine," she lied.

He snorted his belief, and she glared at him. Naturally, John Garrett was unaffected by Jemma's Stern Disapproval as it was akin to a death glare from a Koala Bear.

"Look, I understand, that of this unholy trio, I'm considered the dumb one. Blake's overclocked mind is probably the only one that might be able to keep pace with yours, Phil is Phil, and I'm the dumb one in the group."

"No, you're the dangerous one," she protested. "You're the goofy, charming one which fools everyone into not realizing how astute you truly are."

Fake disappointed grimace.

"You read my last performance appraisal didn't you? Darn Blue Skies. So, you're unhappy, you're in this again your will, what else is bothering you? You can talk to us, express your concerns. We won't get mad, and I know Felix will deeply appreciate any instruction you give him."

Garrett fondly smiled at Felix's oddities, and then his smile faded. Instead he quirked one eyebrow and stared at her.

"You really don't feel comfortable talking to us, why?" he softly asked, his voice a far cry from his usual deafening volume. When she failed to answer, his eyes took on a faraway look as he repeated parts of their earlier conversation. "You didn't mention that bit… you feel like you're the other woman… Wait… so you're scared of us because we physically outnumber you? So you won't voice your displeasure… or you feel you can't? You**_ do_** know that you hold all the cards in this poker game right? You tell us to jump, we jump. You tell us to strip, we'll run to the bathroom to disrobe and run out wearing large bath towels. We are old men, after all."

"I don't hold any cards in this poker game," she protested. "There's three of you, all older, all my superiors. You make all the decisions, I just come along for the ride and pray that I'll have my dignity when it's over."

John Garrett's face fell, and he looked sincerely hurt by her words.

"You don't report to any of us," protested Garrett. "You're not along for the ride, you're driving this bus of insanity, Simmons."

"You planned my social calendar out," she whined, hating herself for confessing any weakness to Garrett. "For a whole month. Phil's planned our solo date already."

"You could have turned any of them down," he reminded her. "We thought that it might be beneficial… if the three of us took you out so you could get to know us outside the company before it was one and one interaction. Blake proposed that it would be easier for you because if it was the four of us together, you'd be less likely to think we were gonna get fresh and hands on. It seemed reasonable, so we agreed to it. And Phil needed to make reservations, early, for that particular restaurant. It's impossible to get into it unless you make reservations months in advance."

"I never got any input," she protested.

"We gave you a questionnaire. Blake was up for thirty six hours straight trying to analyze your questionnaire using every analysis and array he knew, and he pulled a complete blank. I thought he was close to a mental meltdown, because he couldn't even pull a remote probability of what you enjoyed from the data. We wondered if you didn't have a strong opinion on anything, which seemed doubtful, or that you wanted us to work for it and show you our creativity, which is something we've all experienced previously. So we're pulling out all the stops and doing whatever we can think to do on these outings, because you haven't told us what we need to do. In this rodeo, Felix isn't in the only one that needs instructions."

"You three have strategy meetings about me!" The unbelievable horror greatly disturbed her. She imagined how the boys conferenced, drunk coffee and discussed her every reaction! No doubt Felix had a scatter graph plotted AND printed, plus MS-Project fired up on his laptop.

"Like you don't sit there and chat with Fitz and Hacker Girl about us," was Garrett's immediate response. He smiled and laughed, while really irked Simmons.

"I'm not sleeping with them, am I? You don't think I worry that when I finally select a baby daddy that he'll be comparing me carnally to his two best friends? That when I'm up the duff, fucking huge, lying next to him, our baby kicking me so hard that I can't sleep, that I won't know that he'll be thinking how Blake kissed better than me, that Coulson was more cosmopolitan in his kinks or that you were better at…."

She put her hands over her mouth in a failed (and far too late) attempt to prevent herself from voicing her distress, but Thank God, she refrained from telling Garrett that her imaginary baby daddy thought that Garrett thought he was far better at oral sex than she was.

Garrett turned pale and then abruptly stood up. He took out his wallet, threw down a fifty… a fifty… and nodded his head.

"Outside, now." His voice was quite soft, but there was no other option for Simmons, except to vacate the room. "We're leaving now."

* * *

When they were outside, she started to shake and didn't stop.

Garrett stopped walking when they reached a bench, and he quietly stated, "I'm not angry at what you said. I'm glad you finally informed me of what is bothering you. However, I'm unhappy that you're shaking in fear right now because there's no reason for that. I'd like you to sit down next to me. Please"

He settled on the park bench and looked up to her, "Jemma, please. Sit next to me. Of course, you can stand if you want to do so, but I'd like to chat. In private."

Slowly, regretfully, she sat next to him, and he carefully placed his arm around her. Just so.

"Let's make deal. I'll tell the boys that you are uncomfortable with the fact that we are having sex during our courtship. It will stop," he assured her.

"Courtship?" she wasn't sure if she should weep or laugh at how John used that archaic word to describe the crazy train known as her life, and she was in true danger of hysterical tears.

"Courtship," he repeated. "In exchange, you will actually open your mouth and voice your opinion. We will listen to you. Because right now, the three of us are throwing things at the wall and hoping it sticks."

"I told Blake that I didn't want him to buy my gear and he did it anyway," she reminded him. "You're **_not_** listening to me."

"Mandatory disclaimer, your protestations against Blake's obsessive need for safety will be not be heeded. Sorry, my Beautiful Brainiac, it just ain't happening. When Blake gets like that, there is nothing except hang on for the ride."

"I could have paid for it," she protested. "I should have bought it."

"You have NOT been able to afford a customized Skull suit and you would have scrimp on your gear. If God forbid, you had gotten hurt, Felix would spiral into a whirlwind of woe because he'd blame himself. That issue closed, on to the next; No sex for us, I'm rather surprised that it disturbs you so badly. I mean, it's just sex for us, so we can stop at any time, and we're not asking or expecting that you will restrict your extracurricular activities in anyway. We won't ask you to not have sex. If you find a cute guy or girl, go ahead! Mazel Tov! If you two click and you can have a healthy baby, we'll give you away at your wedding. However, unless you give permission otherwise, the three of us will cease and desist all frickle frackle."

"I can't ask that of you three," she tiredly insisted. She just **_couldn't_**, and why didn't he realize that?

"You're not asking. We're doing it, I mean, we're ceasing it," Garrett informed her. "It's just sex."

"It's **_not_**," she protested.

"It is." He nodded his head so that was end of that discussion for him.

She wanted to shake him, inform him that he was blind, because their sex was obviously more than sex. Their relationship was Coulson's touchstone to his supposedly lost humanity, Blake's stabilizing force both mentally and emotionally, and another way that a dying Garrett drank from life by the bucketful. (And how could that overwhelming force of nature be DYING? And how would Garrett's death affect the remainder of Jemma Simmons' Band of Lost Boys?) She couldn't be responsible for destabilizing that bond because the three of them would implode.

"Now, Jemma, you need to tell all three of us your concerns, your fears and how we can help you," Garrett gently told her. "Where do you feel safe enough to have this conversation? You'll have to lead it, and we'll listen."

"I don't know," she softly admitted.

"Would Felix's apartment be the right spot? It's a lot bigger than Coulson's, and we could sit at the dining room table," he suggested. "I mean, I'm assuming you don't want us in your apartment."

The sheer amount of bodies, three men, plus a very large dog who believed he was human, add Fitz and Skye who would naturally crash their meeting (only because they cared! CARED!) Plus Jemma in her small flat caused her unexpected claustrophobia.

"I guess Felix's apartment is fine," she decided.

"Next Group Date Night was scheduled for tomorrow night. Is it still good for you?" Garrett asked. "You can discuss your concerns then. I'll let the guys know that we'll be talking. Is that ok? Should I let them know what we'll be discussing?"

"Yes, I guess."

"Simmons, you're complaining that you feel powerless in this cluster. Permit yourself to be empowered. Make the decision, tell me what you want me to do, what you want me to say."

For the longest time she pondered and finally Garrett threw her a line.

"I don't want to sit here all night as the vampire mosquitos are after my sweet, sweet blood. How's this, 'Simmons would like a chance to have a serious discussion about where this is going. We're doing it tomorrow night.'?"

She nodded her head as Garett had given her the easy way out.

"Any other questions?" he asked.

"How much did the suit cost?"

"You need to learn something else about Felix. He'll help you get your finances in order, but he'll never talk about his personal finances. I have no idea how much your gear was if he picked up the cost. I'm assuming at least high four figures based on the price list I saw. That wasn't the latest and greatest either, which is what he got you."

"WHAT?" She gasped.

"His finances are in order, though I no idea how much he has. He bought Nikki this fucking rock when they got engaged. I don't think you're a gold digger, but if you are, you'll regret it. Like Nikki learned." After that nerve wracking threat, John Garrett smiled the sweet, innocent smile of the angels.

"What did you do?" Jemma softly asked.

"Statute of limitations has not expired, and I invoke the 5th Amendment against self-incrimination. But off the record, it was really fucking awesome." He laughed a loud laugh, and turned to smile at her. "It was really divine retribution. Even Phil was impressed. Horrified, but really impressed."

"Such a good boy," she cooed.

"Shall I take you home now?" he asked.

Simmons nodded, and he squeezed her shoulder.

"Promise that the boys won't be mad," Garrett assured her.

"Pinky swear?" she asked, as it was something that she had learned from watching Skye.

He held out his large hand, crooked out his pinky and winked at her, even as Jemma Simmons secretly vowed to find a way to save his life. Their pinkies entwined even as he smiled at her.

"Trust us, Simmons. We will take care of you," he promised. "But you have to tell us how to do it."

* * *

"So… tell me about Simmons," Tim asked Felix as their session came to a close.

"I was wondering when you'd get to her," Felix quipped. He took a long sip of beer and he briefly permitted himself a small smile. "She's… really… nice."

"More," Tim prompted. "She seemed nice when I met her. Pretty. British, on those two conditions alone, I approve, but I need more information on her."

"We've actually talked… real conversations, Tim. I told her that I need instructions and prompts. She hasn't given me any… so maybe… I'm doing it right? I am putting a great deal of effort into doing it right this time. Plus Winston approves of her, that's very high praise," Blake admitted, while he petted Winston.

"No higher praise," admitted Tim as he was owned by a bulldog. "What's her opinion on the three of you?"

"Seems ok with it, hasn't said anything to the contrary," Felix began before he saw Tim's face. "What? What did I say?"

"Lad, I'm hearing 'Nearer My God to Thee'," Tim groaned. "Man the lifeboats, Felix."

"No, no, she knows. Everything. Hasn't said anything. Nicolette was always making comments even though nothing was happening between the three of us at that time. Jemma's cool with it," Felix nervously blurted. "Tim, don't look at me like that. I'll ask her to come to a therapy session and you'll see. She's ok with it all. I mean, she's even offered to come with me to a therapy session and she offered it, completely on her own, with no prompting from me."

Tim swallowed one, twice and then Felix continued, "I asked her, to tell me what I need to do. To prompt me, to guide me…. She **_promised_**. She promised, Tim, she fucking promised, so if she had any issues, she'd know she could tell me, because she **_promised_**."

"Felix," barked Tim. Felix looked his way, warily. In a softer tone, Tim asked, "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"You, because she's not Nicolette. The bitch promised to help me, instead she mind-fucked me. Jemma isn't like that, because she'd tell me. She tell us immediately if she had any issues because she's not a game player. She's sincere and she's sweet and she promised. She and Phil will be fantastic together."

Tim's eyes blinked quickly. "She's already decided on Phil? That was quicker than I anticipated."

"He's the only logical choice of three of us. John's long term health is uncertain, I'm too high-maintenance to be a good choice, so Phil."

Really, it was the adult decision, to accept what he could never have.

"Did she decide on this already? Or did you just decide it for her?" Tim asked. He glowered, and his tone was disapproving.

"Don't make it sound like that. She's very intelligent and she has all the power in this relationship. It's her decision, and we just do whatever she wants," Felix continued. "She yells, 'jump', we ask 'How high?" in midair."

The two men looked at each other and Tim swallowed once, twice three times. "Can you give me an example of Simmons expressing her needs in this relationship?"

"I can't remember it happening, even the slightest hint," Felix admitted. "I've been reviewing everything and…" He tapped his temple with his right fingers. "She hasn't, but she promised, so that means, we're doing everything right for once. All three of us, are doing everything one hundred percent perfect for the first time ever in our lives, because she fucking promised me, Tim, that she'd tell me. I…trusted… her…"

Tim Dugan noticed how Blake had clarified his statement. Not, I trust her, but instead, I trusted her. Past Tense, because Felix Blake realized something was wrong.

"Your left arm, lad. You're 'tic'ing. Since I first mentioned Simmons," a sympathetic Tim stated.

"There's something wrong," Felix admitted. "She's just too quiet. I wanted to be wrong, that it's Flakey Blakey making an appearance because he has to ruin everything with his constant hysterical fears, but she's too quiet."

"She might be scared of offering her opinion," Tim offered. "Give her a safe place so she can express herself."

"She's not scared of me, is she? I mean, we talk, she sends me funny emails at all hours," protested Felix. "It's almost… like….we're… friends."

"You know that something's off. You can sense it, Felix. Find a place that she feels safe, and most importantly, let her lead the conversation with three of you."

Felix said nothing, and Tim let him have the time he needed to collect this thoughts.

"I want to have a normal relationship, is that so bad? There doesn't have to be sex, I just want some normalcy." Felix admitted. "Though truth demands that Simmons is way out of my class range."

"They all are. That's why they're the fairer sex. How's your head?"

"Screwed on straight. Call you if I need you," Blake stated, as that was their typical signoff for their sessions. "I'll call you after Simmons speaks to us."

"Don't take everything she says to heart," Tim reminded Blake. "She's struggling with this and may not vocalize her feelings correctly."

* * *

Phil Coulson walked to the box office, and smiled at the cashier, "Any standing room only tickets?" he asked.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Phil," the cashier commented. "You're in luck. Got some orchestra seats available on the floor. Heathens aren't interested in classical music."

He opened his wallet, and the cashier slid the ticket to him. "No charge, Phil. Just glad you're back."

"Which precinct?" Phil asked, as free tickets meant Joey had parking tickets that needed to be handled.

"No tickets. Just getting karma points," the cashier chirped. "Besides, it is great that you're back."

* * *

An aisle seat ticket that offered perfect view of the cello section. No one sat next to him, so he was able to stretch out, and **_experience_**. For the first time in far too long, he was able to listen to the music without pain. He closed his eyes to focus on the music.

_"Who is she?" Audrey asked while they danced at the Richmond._

_"Who?" He asked, even as he wondered why this felt so right but his soul screamed that it was wrong. _

_"The girl you're seeing," she teased. "Should I be jealous?"_

_"No," he admitted. "She's not you."_

_"But she's eased your heartache," Audrey reminded him._

_"You've been watching," he teased. "She makes me laugh because I never know what she's gonna do next. The Bowling Ball Bloodbath! How much have you seen?"_

_"You, Blake and Garrett. My, My, My. I do declare that I am having my own personal summa," she said, completed with fake Scarlett O'Hara accent. "Garrett always made me laugh, but I always believed that Blake was so stern and regimented."_

_"That bit started after you died," he assured her. "You know that right?"_

_"I know. Regardless of Nicolette's proclamations and character assassinations, I knew you three were just tight friends," she admitted. "These days, I love watching you three heckle each other, and the afterhours entertainment, so racy. You boys take good care of each other in all the important ways." _

_He snorted._

_"Jemma… she's awfully quiet when you four are together," Audrey gently hinted. "Doesn't express her opinion, does she?"_

_"Are you telling me something?" He asked his private specter. He twirled her and quickly pulled her back into his arms._

_"I'm just voicing what your subconscious has been telling you, Phil. Quick, listen to __**it**__, Phil, I have to go. Love you, and I approve. All of it. Love you. You made me so happy. Don't stay in mourning for me. Carpe Diem!"_

_"Aud?" he asked even as she slipped from his arms. "AUDREY!"_

_A faint, "Most importantly, let her talk!" was the last he heard._

His head jerked, hard, waking him from his sleep and realized that he had fallen asleep. For only a few minutes, but he couldn't focus on the music, instead, he concentrated on what Audrey had said.

_"Jemma… she's awfully quiet when you four are together," Audrey gently hinted. "Doesn't express her opinion, does she?"_

_"Are you telling me something?" He asked his private specter. He twirled her and quickly pulled her back into his arms._

_"I'm just voicing what your subconscious has been telling you, Phil. Quick, listen to __**it."**_

Jemma Simmons. Very quiet except when she wasn't, and… "_Most importantly, let her talk!" _echoed in his mind.

"She's not telling us what she wants from us," he whispered. "She's too scared."

He left the concert at a fast pace, as he needed to speak with the boys.

* * *

John Garrett bounded to his apartment that he shared with Blake. He knocked a syncopated rhythm which the alarm system recognized as 'Friend – Garrett', and then put his keys into the lock. He need not have bothered as Phil Coulson opened the door before he could turn the keys.

"Glad you're here, we're having a conference," Phil tersely stated.

Garrett nodded and walked into the kitchen, where there were cigarettes (Blake was smoking again, which meant he was really rattled, and that he had hidden a pack on Garrett when he had last gone cold turkey), two beers and two half eaten sandwiches. (Phil's work, as naan sandwiches was a Phil sandwich, as Blake was a traditionalist when it came to bread.) Winston had his head in Felix's lap and Felix was compulsively stroking Winston with his left hand. (Blake was tic-ing so between the smoking and the tic-ing, something big had happened.)

Which meant….

"Simmons?" Garrett asked.

Blake and Coulson nodded.

"She's not voicing her needs," Coulson explained. "We don't know what she wants."

"I had an informative conversation with her tonight, and she wants to talk to us tomorrow." Garrett then sighed and sat down in the empty chair. "She doesn't feel comfortable voicing what she wants from us, so we need to find someplace that she'll feel comfortable and safe enough to talk to us."

"We can't have this discussion in her lab," protested Blake.

"Are you smoking weed?" Garrett asked. "No, not her lab."

"It's where she feels safest."

"She'll have the meeting here," Garrett informed them.

"What's the agenda?" was Blake's next nonsensical question, but Garrett pitied him and refused to voice the snarky comment that was on the tip of his tongue.

"It's us," Phil stated. "She's concerned about us?"

"Us?" Blake asked, whose mental wheels were spinning hard and throwing cerebral sand everywhere.

"US," Garrett agreed.

"Oh, us?" Phil repeated. He seemed quite confused.

"US?" Blake asked. "What about US? What is the problem with US?"

"Not us, Blake, 'US'," Garrett explained, using his fingers to make quotations around 'US'."

Blake's face fell when he realized what Garrett meant as he quickly protested, "But there is no US."

"It just sex," Phil insisted.

"She seems bothered by that part of US, so I told her that we're stopping," Garrett stated.

"But it's just sex," Blake protested. "It's not like we're making love. It's sex."

"I know, but she thinks it's more, so until we figure out what the issue is, no go," Garrett decreed.

"I don't understand," Felix said. "It's not like we're in love with each other."

"My God, I feel the urge to vomit at the very thought of being in love with either of you," Garrett quipped.

"I don't know, if love means sleeping in the wet spot," Phil offered, before he was walloped by two half-eaten naan sandwiches. "No, no, I'm not in love with either of you two, because that would be just too weird."

"Amen, brother," Felix Blake intoned. "Did I hear amen, Brother Garrett?"

"A-men. AAAAAAAA-MEN," Garrett loudly agreed.


	27. The War Council of the Lemmings

WAR COUNCIL

"You'll be in charge tomorrow," Felix informed Phil.

Phil nearly spit his beer through his nose. "Me?" And Phil Coulson was not proud to admit that his voice cracked like he was in the midst of puberty.

"Someone has to keep Garrett under control," Felix tersely explained. "You get to babysit him. You have my permission to muzzle him if necessary."

"Hey! I resemble that remark!" mock protested Garrett.

"See, he can't be trusted," a somber Felix retorted. "You need to be in charge."

"Why me? Why not you?" Phil reasonably asked. God Lord, he was Tony Stark's main babysitter, why add John Garrett to his list of charges? Hadn't he already paid off his karma at a vastly accelerated rate? Did the universe want still more from him?

"Seriously? I won't even answer that," was Blake's disbelieving answer. "If she's feeling…. uncomfortable, the mouth that roared will not be beneficial if we want an honest conversation. Nor the mouth that stutters and stammers and overthinks everything. What am I saying? There's no… we… anymore. None of this plural personal pronouns anymore, not anymore."

"I don't understand," Garrett admitted. "Why can't we …"

"No, no, no. She thinks there's an US, that three of us…frickle frackle the every night. And when the hell did I start using that term to describe sex?" Felix asked.

"You shouldn't use us, if you aren't permitting us to use we," protested Garrett.

It took a moment for the trio to determine if that sentence made grammatical sense, what it said about them when they realized it did, and then Felix valiantly attempted to regain control of the conversation before it went further astray.

"Simmons believe that Phil, you and I are in a committed relationship. She believes that we're in love with each other." His tone was quite dry, leaving no doubt what he thought of THAT.

They were brothers of a different mother yes, but 'in love', never. Ever.

"I admire how he can say that with a straight face," chirped Garrett to an amused, grinning Phil Coulson. "But I have to protest, Pookie Bear, as you never send me flowers. If we were in love, I'd hope you'd send me flowers."

"He never buys me champagne so we can have fun in the Jacuzzi," Phil added. "He knows I'm a cheap date when I'm drunk. Snookums, why don't you ever get me drunk in the Jacuzzi?"

Felix Blake didn't even attempt to hide his annoyance.

"That's got to stop," insisted Felix. "The snark, the witty banter, the sparkling repartee that makes lower agents envious. Why can't you see that you are truly risking fucking up this golden opportunity? She's not gonna pick all three of us, so we can't present ourselves as a buy one, get two free husbands. This is your chance for something **_normal_**, Phil and John. A **_healthy_** relationship with a really nice girl. Don't you think you deserve the opportunity?"

"Are you saying that our relationship, such as it is, which is most assuredly not one of a committed, loving relationship, isn't healthy?" Phil asked, even as he struggled to hide the pork rinds (Garrett's favorites) and the fully loaded Potato chips (His personal favorites).

"No, it's a bond of codependency, we're literally lemmings skipping over the cliff," Felix snapped. "When's the last time you dated? And don't mention Simmons."

"My last date was with Audrey," Phil stated with a quiet, wounded dignity. "And it's been two years, ten months and seventeen days since my final date with Audrey because, as you are well aware, she died in the Battle of New York. I was hoping to take her shopping for a ring, but… instead an alien with daddy issues destroyed most of Manhattan in a temper tantrum."

He pursed his lips and looked away from Garrett and Blake, willing himself to compose himself.

"We all know that Nicolette left me, two and a half years ago, on the very day I asked if we could… because we hadn't …frickle frackle in over four months, not since I got hurt and I needed to be physically close to her again. I think we can also say, that I had a full meltdown and I am still not the man I was before New York. John, when is the last time, you've dated?"

"There's very few women that want to bed a man that looks like me," a serious John Garrett slowly admitted. "Between the scars, the burns and the various non-standard attachments, it has been a very long time for me. An obscenely long time."

"So, because no one was beating down our doors, wanting to have sex with us, we hooked up. For two and half years, Phil. What do you think Simmons notices when she sees the three of us together, John? The sniping, the snarking, the obvious comradery?" Felix asked. "She had a boyfriend that cheated on her, and now she has to deal with the three of us, she must be…"

"She mentioned to me that she felt like the other woman in our relationship," John slowly admitted.

"John, don't you think you should have shared that with the class?" Phil sternly asked. "Is there anything else you should have shared, Mr. Garrett?"

"I just got back from talking to her, Phil. Give me a second, and I'll give you the bullet points," Garrett retorted. "She feels powerless in this odd relationship, that we had scheduled her life away."

"She could have refused," Blake protested.

"She doesn't feel like she has the power to refuse. Let's face it, we're all older than her, and we outrank her, plus the fact that there are three of us," Phil announced. "She needs reassurance that she could tell us to fuck off, and we wouldn't do anything in retaliation, either personally or workwise."

"She feels like she's the baby maker in this," Garrett stated. "That she's supposed to put a bag on her head and be used to repopulate Earth."

The two other men loudly protested even while Garrett promised them that he had reassured her that's not how they felt about her, that they respected her for her brain and her talent, and they didn't think of her as merely a baby maker.

"Did she believe you?" Phil asked.

"I don't think so," Garrett slowly admitted. "She's worried that when she chooses a baby daddy, that he'll compare her sexually to his two best friends. And that he will find her lacking."

The previous outburst paled in comparison to Phil's loud assertions that it would never happen. Felix Blake said nothing, instead he withdrew into himself.

"Blake?" Garrett asked. "You're not saying anything. I know you don't agree with what she said, but you're not saying anything."

"I know that our main concern is Simmons in this insanity," he slowly stated. "And she is my main worry and it seems that our best efforts have failed at providing her with much needed reassurance and support. I would never compare her to you or to Phil if she and I…. ever took that step. If I was ever lucky enough that she desired to take that step with me."

He crossed his arms and then said nothing. His shoulders were tensed, and his arms were locked, so he wouldn't twitch. John and Phil exchanged concerned glances and John nodded at Phil to take the lead.

"Come on, Blake. You've just shut down on us," Phil prompted.

"I asked her to tell me if she had problems, to let me know. I asked her," Blake slowly stated. "She promised. I… haven't let anyone… in as far as her… in such a long time, and I asked her…to tell me if she had any concerns…. and I hoped… and… I trusted…her when she said that she would. Now, I understand that she has the right not to tell me anything. I can't force her to do that, she has to decide to confide in me."

Garrett was about to chime in with a comment, but with a quick, savage gesture from Phil, he stopped.

"Tim says… part of my problem connecting with people is that I have a wall. A very thick wall, which… and that… I need to…" He stopped, mouthed silently for a bit as though searching for the correct words, and then continued, "I… haven't permitted myself to be … that vulnerable in a while. Not since the day I begged Nicolette if we could have sex. And we all know how well that betrayal went. And damn it, Simmons didn't betray me, not like Nikki did, because there's **_nothing_** between the two of us. There is no ring, no wedding plans, no church date booked."

"It's not you, Jemma's just really scared, and overwhelmed," Phil protested.

"I know that, **_logically_**." It was the God's honest truth. Didn't mean it lessened the pain any, because he had tentatively put her in the 'friend' category of which there were only a few chosen souls. He had hesitantly opened himself up to her, and she had confided in GARRETT. Which was her right, and her choice and at least she was comfortable talking to someone! "It just proves that we need to sever this relationship of ours. Whatever the fuck you want to call it, it's over. The codependency, the sex, the cuddling, the beating up of people that are mean to me, Garrett. It was fine when it was just the three of us, in our cozy cube of cossetting codependency. And it didn't affect anyone else, but now it is, so it has to stop."

"Phil?" Garrett questioned. "Blake's right. Simmons deserves far better than dealing with us and our weird relationship."

"She deserves better, but I don't like the fact that this is damaging our friendship."

"It's not," protested Garrett. "It's just making us realize that this isn't healthy, so we can get our friendship back on track. Do you want me to move out, Felix? I can get a room at the barracks. Maybe Max's mom has another room?"

Felix pondered for a bit, and then he looked at his crutches, thought of his difficulties of handling the most basic of household responsibilities.

"Phil? Do you think it would be problematic if Garrett stays until I'm able to bear weight? I can't do laundry and I can't drive? Winston needs a chance to run at least once a day?" Felix asked. "Speaking of which, I need you to drive me to the bank and Department of Motor Vehicles tomorrow during lunch."

Garrett nodded his head.

"No, I think she'd understand, and she'd be ok with it. I mean, she did cripple you after all, so she has to make reasonable allowances," Phil decided. "Now, we just have to figure out to make her feel comfortable and secure enough to actually voice her opinion tomorrow night."

"Felix? Do you think maybe you could do an impromptu guitar concert for her?" Garrett asked. "You know, no suits, no ties. Short sleeves shirts."

"Does that include you?" Phil quipped.

"No more of that," Felix verbally smacked down Phil who quickly nodded his head in agreement.

"Jeans, whatever we can get Felix into, and tell her to pick where we're getting dinner. You can pretend that you're practicing guitar, give her a little concert, we can listen, eat and then talk?" Phil asked. "Equally spaced apart."

"Sounds… non-threatening," Felix admitted.

"Like a Sunday School picnic," Garrett which caused Phil and Felix to groan.

"John, you're from Texas. They wear guns to Sunday School Picnics," Phil reminded Garrett.

"So tomorrow night, we let her talk, or not, but if she does decide to talk, we will not interrupt her. We will let her speak her mind, and we will not invalidate any of her feelings by protesting or disagreeing," Felix stated. "And yes, I stole that from Tim."

"If you have to steal, steal from the best," Phil easily agreed.

"So," Garrett drawled. "What now? No poker nights, no movie nights?"

"No clue," Felix Blake admitted even while Phil shrugged his shoulders.


	28. A Storgic Kind of Love

MONDAY NIGHT

"How was biking with Garrett?" Fitz asked.

Jemma Simmons didn't answer, as she carefully placed her far too expensive helmet in a safe place. That done, she removed her jacket, pants and then her boots, which required Fitz's assistance. She should have realized that Fitz had an ulterior motive as he closely examined her leather jacket.

"I really want to look at the design of these one day when you're not wearing them," he admitted. "Lot of technology here with the mini airbags, and it's very smoothly done."

"Very expensive gear," she nervously admitted.

"How did you afford it?" He asked. "Did you get a raise? Get bumped up a level or four and you spent the bonus on gear? Why didn't I get bumped up, too?"

"Blake bought it for me," was her reluctant confession. "I didn't pay for any of it."

"Does he wear this too?" Fitz asked.

"No, his gear is more basic."

"So he ensured that you are safe when you ride. I can respect that." Fitz tilted his head and stared at her. "Spill it," he finally ordered. "You're upset about something."

"I am having a serious conversation with them tomorrow night," she admitted.

"About what?" he asked.

"Them… that…them… me…." she explained. "Us. We?"

Fortunately, Fitz had years of experience with Simmons, and he was fluent in Simmons-speak. So instead of commenting, he hugged her as he knew that she needed emotional support. "Come on, let's watch Dr. Who."

"Seven?" she asked, as Fitz was partial to Sylvester McCoy.

He nodded.

TUESDAY MORNING

"You ok?" a sitting Blake asked as he looked up at Garrett. "You look grey."

The older agent's face was a tad grey, or it could be because it was early morning.

"Speaking of grey, you might want to do a touch up," Garrett protested as he futzed with Blake's salt and pepper hair. "You're looking old enough to be Winston's granddaddy."

"I've been greying since I met you and Phil," protested Blake, who still thwatted Garrett's hand away from his head. "However, you do look grey. Do you need a charge?"

"Is that what you old folks call it?" Garrett queried which was his way of not answering at all.

"Stop that, why don't you get dressed," Phil protested as he stepped into the kitchen. "These shoes, Felix?"

Felix nodded, and Phil slid them onto Felix's feet even as a grumbling Garrett left to change into a turtleneck and fatigues.

"He doesn't look good this morning," Felix informed Coulson. "He nearly dropped me last week when he was lifting me so thank you for the help in getting dressed."

"What's has he said?" Coulson asked.

"That I put on weight," dryly commented Felix. "Arm?"

Coulson held out his arm, and Felix grabbed it. "Which I thought was rude. Count of three? One, Two, Three?" As he pulled himself into a standing position, balanced on one foot, Coulson smiled and said nothing.

"Not you too!" Felix protested. "I have enough problems. For example, do you have any idea how hard it is to wear a suit when you're on crutches and you can't weight bear?"

"You could always wear fatigues," suggested Coulson.

"I'm an OCD desk jockey," Blake reminded Coulson as he struggled to tuck in his shirt, one handed. "Not an Avenger."

"Let me help you," Coulson protested. He quickly and competently assured that Felix's shirt was tucked in. "You better belt it yourself."

"Do you think Fitz might be able to help John?" Blake quietly asked as he belted himself in. "What John really needs to do is go offline and reboot. He's charging more, and the charge is lasting less and less. He's not supposed to be running twenty four – seven."

"We nearly lost him during the last time he rebooted, as the system didn't restart until we jump started it," Coulson didn't need to remind Blake of that nightmare. "I have an idea. I'll take over Blake-sitting for a bit. He can stay in my apartment that way he can catch up on his sleep. Maybe that's all he needs?"

The two men doubted it, but refused to give voice to their fears.

"Do you want to talk to Fitz?" Blake asked. "He's brilliant, he might have an idea that they haven't tried yet? I have copies of all his files."

Phil bit his lip, silently debated and then nodded his agreement.

"I'll schedule a meeting for the three of us later today," Coulson decided. "I'll drive you and Skye around during lunch. Garrett doesn't have to drive you around, and maybe he'll stay home."

Blake twisted his lips, as that was a deliberate violation of the Coulson-Blake-Hate-At-Work-Facade and Phil shook his head. "I'll look suitably pissed," he promised. "Horribly put out and that I'm only doing it for Garrett."

The two men gave each other their workface growls and Coulson snickered.

"You have to add the head tilt, as though I'm confusing you," Coulson protested. "It doesn't work without the head tilt."

"And what is Fury's special snowflake doing in my area of the data dungeon?" Blake asked. He added the head tilt, and Phil struggled not to smile. Yet failed horribly.

"Bestowing my royal brilliance on desk jockeys like you," Phil sniped.

"Boys? Must I separate you?" John Garrett asked. Then with a grimace that might have been an attempt at a smile, he waved his hands. "I decided to take a day off. Fight it out among yourselves, boys. Don't tell the Bad Guys that Jonathan Garrett is taking the day off as they might try to overrun the world."

"I'm kicking you out today, Garrett. Phil will Blake-sit, so you go crash at his place," Felix informed Garrett.

"Thanks, Phil. Felix has put on weight…."

"Fuck you," Felix inserted.

"Eating all those macarons that Bright Skies brought over for him," Garrett continued as though Felix hadn't interrupted. "My back is bothering me, plus I need to be awake tonight if Simmons decides to talk with us."

"She certainly likes chatting with you," Blake said. He meant no malice, truly he didn't. But he really wished he hadn't uttered it, as he sounded… petulant. He waved an apology but Garret wasn't having any of it. Naturally.

"Late to work," Blake stated before Garrett could do more than inhale deeply for his long proclamation on Blake's needless anxieties. "Get some sleep."

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

Leo Fitz was quite dismayed (one word for it) when he was told to report to Conference Room Theta. He wasn't sure what he anticipated, but since the invite was from Felix X. Blake, he rather hoped it had nothing to do with Jemma. When he witnessed Coulson standing next to the wall while a somber Felix Blake sat at the head of the table, his heart sunk to his toes.

"Agent Fitz," Coulson welcomed him. "Please take a seat. I hope you understand that what Agent Blake and I are showing you is Classified Confidential and cannot be shared with anyone, including Agent Simmons without our expressed permission."

Fitz was beyond confused, as he possessed no idea why he was in a SHIELD conference room with two senior agents who were quasi group dating his BFF.

"Do you agree?" Blake questioned. "We are in need of your unique skillset for a project."

"I might need Simmons' help," Fitz protested. "We work together."

The two agents looked at each other, and Felix nodded to Phil. "At the moment, we believe this to be a completely mechanical issue. If you feel differently please let us know and we'll decide if she should be brought in," Phil decided.

"Do you agree to our terms, Agent?" Felix asked.

He wasn't being ordered, Garrett wasn't in the room and mechanical…. Not bio chem… but mechanical with these two agents? John Garrett…. Cyborg… was the issue.

"Is this regarding Agent Garrett?" Fitz asked. "I'm willing to help if it's him."

Garrett was a jovial soul, who could match him drink for drink, so yes, Fitz would offer his assistance.

"Due to his odd relationship with Agent Simmons, we're not sure if she should be brought in. We also understand that this puts you in a difficult position, but…" Coulson stopped.

"Let me show you," Blake explained. "Back in 1993, there was a severely wounded SHIELD Agent. He was as good as dead, however, being a cranky bastard, and wanting death on his terms, he submitted to an experimental procedure. Operation DeathLok."

He pulled out a realm of assorted papers, some marked classified, some heavily redacted, some scribbled upon in various ink colors.

"He was never guaranteed that he'd survive the procedure, however he's always been one to beat the odds. The equipment, being a prototype, was also never supposed to last this long. The programmers that worked on this original prototype are no longer able to assist and the current engineering staff at SHIELD has not been able to reverse engineer what the Drs. Singh, Kim and Creighton created. The equipment requires a reboot every so often. It's supposed to be done under controlled circumstances every six months. It was last done two years ago and we had difficulty restarting the cybernetic hardware, " Blake explained.

Fitz examined the paperwork, realized that Blake had organized it as everything was just so with a neat cover page detailing all of Garrett's various surgeries and maintenance.

"When's the last time he did a BIOS update? Firmware?" Fitz asked, as he wanted to confirm the dates.

"2005," Phil admitted.

"Last software patch?" Fitz asked.

"2006. Last defrag was 2009."

Fitz grimaced and the men nodded their heads in tired understanding.

"If this was basic hardware, I'd be your go to guy, but this is sounding more and more like you need Skye's involvement. This system needs a complete hack…" Fitz started expressing his opinion, but stopped when he saw the storm cloud on Blake's face.

"Understand that what you call a system that needs hacking is one of my closest friends," Blake quietly stated. It was quietly stated, but Fitz heard the threat.

"He knows that," Phil inserted as Fitz looked as though he was bitterly regretting coming into the conference room without backup. "He was talking like the engineer he is."

"And people say you and I have extreme detachment," protested Blake even while Phil gestured at him to just shut up and let him lead.

"I'll really need Skye's involvement," a nervous Fitz requested as he looked towards Phil Coulson for support even as Blake shook his head.

"Please review the papers and we'll meet later this week to discuss the issue," Coulson informed him. "If you do not have any more questions, you're dismissed."

Fitz leapt towards the door and then stopped. "Does Garrett know what we're doing?"

"No," Phil tersely explained. "We'd prefer not to get his hopes up as he's been informed after the previous difficulties restarting his cybernetic system that it is highly unlikely that they could restart it."

"He just seems so alive," murmured Fitz, as he had first handedly witnessed how Garrett marshaled and cajoled and corralled Jemma's Harem Chock Full of Men of Certain Security Levels.

"He plans on outliving all of us," Phil admitted. "Thank you for your time, and I hope you understand when I ask you to be very careful with this documentation."

"Yes, Sir," Fitz stated before he ran for the hills.

Phil Coulson closed the door, securely, and then loudly exhaled.

"You don't want to get Stark involved and I understood your reasoning," protested Felix Blake. "I'm not so sure about Hacker Girl."

"I thought you and Skye were getting alone. You secured her loan for her, which will probably take her a decade to pay off, she has her driver's permit thanks to you, you're giving her driving lessons in your Jeep this weekend. You even got her decent furniture for her apartment, but you don't want her working on John?"

"The loan, the jeep, they mean nothing to me. You, John and Winston are what matters to me," Blake stated. "I just don't trust her enough to ensure his continuing health to her. I understand that she's your hacker, but it's different when one is hacking the Department of Motor Vehicle verses John's cybernetic central nervous system."

It's one of those startling crystal clear moments where Phil Coulson really got Felix Blake. Really **_got_** him, because even while Phil Coulson counted himself as one of the two men that know Blake best, there's always been a small part of Blake that Blake hid from even himself, that painful core that he refused to analyze.

Let alone overanalyze.

Blake is fucking terrified that Garrett will die, and that Phil will end up with Simmons, leaving him alone and on the outside. Oh, and Blake won't be angry, he'll be understanding if it happens. Will throw them one hell of a wedding because he's generous like that, will slip them an awesome honeymoon because he's magnanimous. And he'll be understanding when Phil and he aren't as tight as they used to be, what with Phil's new normal life where he has a pretty lady as his partner. Because Phil is the sane one, the rational one, because Blake has accepted that that he'll end up alone, because that is Blake's greatest fear; that he'll die alone. Awake, aware and begging for the end to come, trapped with just his ceaseless thoughts.

And when Felix Blake commits suicide, it will be a very clean, very well planned out affair. As little mess as possible, with his cremation arranged and Winston's assorted stuffed animals neatly packed as he'll bequeath Winston to Phil.

And the worst part of it all to Phil is that the small part of Felix has already surrendered.

That intrinsical part of Blake that had fought to keep him alive when he was under a building for two whole days, that had continued to scratch and crawl his way back to work even after he had endured such traumatic injuries, has capitulated.

Phil walked over to Felix Blake and squeezed his shoulder. Hard.

"It'll be alright," he promised. "No matter what happens, it will be alright."

No Blake smirk, no head tilt with the 'WTF' look, instead, he reached for Phil's hand and squeezed it. Blake left his hand there and Phil instinctively placed his free hand on Blake's other shoulder.

"I don't know, Phil. I really don't know," Blake softly admitted. "Everything's changing, and I don't handle change well."

"I'll be here, always," Phil reassured Felix, who nodded his head in weary agreement.

And Phil wondered…. Really…. Really wondered… if maybe Simmons is right about the three of them loving each other.

If he looked closely at their twisted, unique relationship with a dispassionate eye, what type of love would it be?

Time to pull out his old philosophical books. Maybe Plato's **_Symposium_**? Well, Phil Coulson was no Aristophanes but he had read the **_The Frogs_**, and he knew the quickest way to hell was in fact a woman scorned while jumping off a tower was far less painful.

And really, platonic love wouldn't quite cover whatever the trio had.

**_Agape?_** A deep spiritual love? Heck no, they'd frickle frackled enough to prove that idea wrong.

**_Eros?_** Physical, passionate love? That incredible heady feeling he had with Audrey? Where just seeing her stole his very soul away? Oh, good God, no. John Garrett? Felix Blake? He had seen both men bleary eyed and shaving plus in some serious need of mouthwash, so Hell to the No.

**_Philia?_** A dryly dispassionate love? Not when the three of them circled their wagons and protected each other fiercely.

That left **_Storgic_**.

Yes. Most assuredly the three of them shared a Storgic love. An easy rapport, self-revelation, interdependency, and mutual need fulfillment (companionship and sex) certainly described their relationship. Their friendship that had turned sexual, that into turn had developed into something deeper and substantial, and they had been quite content with the status quo.

The three of them had just been too stupid to realize it.

And now they were faced with Simmons, and the possibility of Eros love, and the three of them were completely unprepared to handle it. No, instead the three of them discussed, analyzed and handled her in their completely codependent way.

Poor, poor Simmons.

"Let's call it a day, Felix. In a little bit, we need to reassure Jemma Simmons that it's perfectly acceptable for her to speak her mind."

"Should we pick up flowers?" Blake quietly asked. "Something… nice… Not roses, but … something?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Felix."


End file.
